MRS.  'A.  D.T.WHITNEY 


JONES'  BOOK  STORE 

Los  Angeles,  Cat. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S 
GIRLHOOD 


By  MRS.  A.  D.  T.  WHITNEY 
Author  of  "The  Gayworthy's,"  Etc.,  Etc. 


"Standing,  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  Childhood  fleet!" 

—LONGFELLOW. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,      *    *    *    * 
*     *     *    PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


PREFACE. 


I  BEGAN  this  story  for  young  girls.  It  has  grown,  as 
they  grow,  to  womanhood.  It  makes  no  artistic  preten- 
sion. It  is  a  simple  record  of  something  of  the  thought 
and  life  that  lies  between  fourteen  and  twenty. 

I  dedicate  it,  as  it  is,  to  these  young  girls,  who  dream, 
and  wish,  and  strive,  and  err ;  and  find,  perhaps,  little 
help  to  interpret  their  own  spirits  to  themselves.  I  be- 
lieve and  hope  that  there  is  nothing  in  it  which  shall 
hinder  them  in  what  is  noblest  and  truest. 

May  there  be  something  that  shall  lift  them — though 
by  ever  so  little — up  1 

A.  D.  T.  W. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

CHAPTER  I. 

"  MONEY,   MONEY  1  " 

44  Shoe  the  horse  and  shoe  the  mare, 
And  let  the  little  colt  go  bare." 

EAST  or  West,  it  matters  not  where, — the  story  may, 
doubtless,  indicate  something  of  latitude  and  longitude 
as  it  proceeds, — in  the  city  of  Mishaumok,  lived  Hen- 
derson Gartney,  Esq.,  one  of  those  American  gentlemen 
of  whom,  if  she  were  ever  canonized,  Martha  of  Beth- 
any must  be  the  patron  saint, — if  again,  feminine 
celestials,  sainthood  once  achieved  through  the  weary 
experience  of  earth,  don't  know  better  than  to  assume 
such  charge  of  wayward  man, — born,  as  they  are, 
seemingly,  to  the  life-destiny  of  being  ever  "  careful 
and  troubled  about  many  things." 

We  have  all  of  us,  as  little  girls,  read  "  Rosamond." 
Now,  one  of  Rosamond's  early  worries  suggests  a  key 
to  half  the  worries,  early  and  late,  of  grown  men  and 
women.  The  silver  paper  won't  cover  the  basket. 

Mr.  Gartney  had  spent  his  years,  from  twenty-five 
to  forty,  in  sedulously  tugging  at  the  corners.  He 

5 


(}  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

had  had  his  share  of  silver  paper,  too, — only  the  basket 
was  a  little  too  big. 

In  a  pleasant  apartment,  half  library,  half  parlor, 
and  used  in  the  winter  months  as  a  breakfast-room, 
beside  a  table  still  covered  with  the  remnants  of  the 
morning  meal,  sat  Mrs.  Gartney  and  her  young  daugh- 
ter, Faith ;  the  latter  with  a  somewhat  disconcerted, 
not  to  say  rueful,  expression  of  face. 

A  pair  of  slippers  on  the  hearth  and  the  morning 
paper  thrown  down  beside  an  armchair,  gave  hint 
of  the  recent  presence  of  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  can't  go,"  remarked  the  young 
lady. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  elder,  in  a 
helpless,  worried  sort  of  tone.  "  It  don't  seem  really 
right  to  ask  your  father  for  the  money.  I  did  just 
speak  of  your  wanting  some  things  for  a  party,  but  I 
suppose  he  has  forgotten  it;  and,  to-day,  I  hate  to 
trouble  him  with  reminding.  Must  you  really  have 
new  gloves  and  slippers,  both  ? " 

Faith  held  up  her  little  foot  for  answer,  shod  with 
a  partly-worn  bronze  kid,  reduced  to  morning  service. 

"  These  are  the  best  I've  got.  And  my  gloves  have 
been  cleaned  over  and  over,  till  you  said  yourself,  last 
time,  they  would  hardly  do  to  wear  again.  If  it  were 
any  use,  I  should  say  I  must  have  a  new  dress;  but  I 
thought  at  least  I  should  freshen  up  with  the  '  little 
fixings,'  and  perhaps  have  something  left  for  a  few 
natural  flowers  for  my  hair." 

"  I  know.  But  your  father  looked  annoyed  when  I 
told  him  we  should  want  fresh  marketing  to-day.  He 
is  really  pinched,  just  now,  for  ready  money, — and 
he  is  so  discouraged  about  the  times.  He  told  me  only 
last  night  of  a  man  who  owed  him  five  hundred  dollars, 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  7 

and  came  to  say  he  didn't  know  as  he  could  pay  a 
cent.  It  don't  seem  to  be  a  time  to  afford  gloves  and 
shoes  and  flowers.  And  then  there'll  be  the  carriage, 
too." 

"  Oh  dear !  "  sighed  Faith,  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
felt  herself  checkmated.  "  I  wish  I  knew  what  we 
really  could  afford !  It  always  seems  to  be  these  little 
things  that  don't  cost  much,  and  that  other  girls,  whose 
fathers  are  not  nearly  so  well  off,  always  have,  without 
thinking  anything  about  it."  And  she  glanced  over  the 
table,  whereon  shone  a  silver  coffee-service,  and  up  at 
the  mantel  where  stood  a  French  clock  that  had  been 
placed  there  a  month  before. 

"Pull  at  the  bobbin  and  the  latch  will  fly  up." 
An  unspoken  suggestion,  of  drift  akin  to  this,  flitted 
through  the  mind  of  Faith.  She  wondered  if  her 
father  knew  that  this  was  a  Signal  Street  invitation. 

Mr.  Gartney  was  ambitious  for  his  children,  and 
solicitous  for  their  place  in  society. 

But  Faith  had  a  touch  of  high-mindedness  about 
her  that  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  pull  bobbins. 

So,  when  her  father  presently,  with  hat  and  coat 
on,  came  into  the  room  again  for  a  moment,  before 
going  out  for  the  day,  she  sat  quite  silent,  with  her 
foot  upon  the  fender,  looking  into  the  fire. 

Something  in  her  face  however,  quite  unconsciously, 
bespoke  that  the  world  did  not  lie  entirely  straight  be- 
fore her,  and  this  catching  her  father's  eye,  brought 
up  to  him,  by  an  untraceable  association,  the  half 
proffered  request  of  his  wife. 

"  So  you  haven't  any  shoes,  Faithie.     Is  that  it  ? " 

"  None  nice  enough  for  a  party,  father." 

"  And  the  party  is  a  vital  necessity,  I  suppose. 
Where  is  it  to  be  ? " 


8  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

The  latch-string  was  put  forth,  and  while  Faith 
still  stayed  her  hand,  her  mother,  absolved  from  selfish 
end,  was  fain  to  catch  it  up. 

"  At  the  Rushleighs'.  The  Old  Year  out  and  the 
New  Year  in." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  mustn't  '  let  the  colt  go  bare,'  "  an- 
swered Mr.  Gartney,  pleasantly,  portmonnaie  in  hand.' 
"  But  you  must  make  that  do."  He  handed  her  five 
dollars.  "  And  take  good  care  of  your  things  when  you 
have  got  them,  for  I  don't  pick  up  many  five  dollars 
now-a-days." 

And  the  old  look  of  care  crept  up,  replacing  the 
kindly  smile,  as  he  turned  and  left  the  room. 

"  I  feel  very  much  as  if  I  had  picked  my  father's 
pocket,"  said  Faith,  holding  the  bank-note,  half 
ashamedly,  in  her  hand. 

Henderson  Gartney,  Esquire,  was  a  man  of  no 
method  in  his  expenditure.  When  money  chanced  to 
be  plenty  with  him  it  was  very  apt  to  go  as  might 
happen — for  French  clocks,  or  whatsoever;  and  then, 
suddenly,  the  silver  paper  fell  short  elsewhere,  and  lo! 
a  corner  was  left  uncovered. 

The  horse  and  the  mare  were  shod.  Great  expenses 
were  incurred;  money  was  found,  somehow,  for  grand 
outlays;  but  the  comfort  of  buying,  with  a  readiness, 
the  little  needed  matters  of  every  day, — this  was  fore- 
gone. "  Not  let  the  colt  go  bare !  "  It  was  precisely 
the  thing  he  was  continually  doing. 

Mrs.  Gartney  had  long  found  it  to  be  her  only  wise 
way  to  make  her  hay  while  the  sun  was  shining, — 
to  buy,  when  she  could  buy,  what  she  was  sure  would 
be  most  wanted, — and  to  look  forward  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, in  her  provisions,  since  her  husband  scarcely 
seemed  to  look  forward  at  alL 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  9 

So  she  exemplified,  over  and  over  again  in  her  life, 
the  story  of  Pharaoh  and  his  fat  and  lean  kine. 

That  night,  Faith,  her  little  purchases  and  arrange- 
ments all  complete,  and  flowers  and  carriage  bespoken 
for  the  next  evening,  went  to  bed  to  dream  such  dreams 
as  only  come  to  the  sleep  of  early  years. 

At  the  same  time,  lingering  by  the  fireside  below 
for  a  half  hour's  unreserved  conversation,  Mr.  Gartney 
was  telling  his  wife  of  another  money  disappointment. 

"  Blacklow,  at  Cross  Corners,  gives  up  the  lease  of 
the  house  in  the  spring.  He  writes  me  he  is  going 
out  to  Indiana  with  his  son-in-law.  I  don't  know 
where  I  shall  find  another  such  tenant, — or  any  at  all, 
for  that  matter." 


CHAPTER  H. 

SOETBS. 

**  How  shall  I  know  if  I  do  choose  the  right  ?  * 

41  Since  this  fortune  falls  to  you, 
Be  content,  and  seek  no  new." 

MERCHANT  OP  VENICE. 

u  Now,  Mahala  Harris,"  said  Faith,  as  she  glanced 
in  at  the  nursery  door,  which  opened  from  her  room, 
"  don't  let  Hendie  get  up  a  French  Revolution  here 
while  I'm  gone  to  dinner." 

"  Land  sakes !  Miss  Faith !  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean,  nor  whether  I  can  help  it.  I  dare  say  he'd  get 
up  a  Revolution  of  '76,  over  again,  if  he  once  set  out. 
He  does  train  like  'lection,  fact,  sometimes." 

"Well,  don't  let  him  build  barricades  with  all  the 


10  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

chairs,  so  that  I  shall  have  to  demolish  my  way  back 
again.  I'm  going  to  lay  out  my  dress  for  to-night." 

And  very  little  dinner  could  her  young  appetite 
manage  on  this  last  day  of  the  year.  All  her  vital 
energy  was  busy  in  her  anticipative  brain,  and  glan- 
cing thence  in  sparkles  from  her  eyes,  and  quivering 
down  in  swift  currents  to  her  restless  little  feet.  It 
mattered  little  that  there  was  delicious  roast  beef  smok- 
ing on  the  table,  and  Christmas-pies  were  arrayed  upon 
the  sideboard,  while  up  stairs  the  bright  ribbon  and  tiny, 
shining,  old-fashioned  buckles  were  waiting  to  be 
shaped  into  rosettes  for  the  new  slippers,  and  the  lace 
hung,  half  basted,  from  the  neck  of  the  simple  but 
delicate  silk  dress,  and  those  lovely  green-house  flowers 
stood  in  a  glass  dish  on  her  dressing-table,  to  be  sorted 
for  her  hair,  and  into  a  graceful  breast-knot.  No, — 
dinner  was  a  very  secondary  and  contemptible  affair, 
compared  with  these. 

Ah,  if  people  could  only  hold  out  to  live,  all  the  rest 
of  their  days,  on  perfume  and  beauty  and  grace  and 
dreamy  delights, — that  seem,  in  the  charmed  vision  of 
youth,  the  essential  verities  of  life, — how  the  worry 
and  care  of  breakfasts  and  dinners  and  butchers'  and 
grocers'  bills  and  the  trouble  of  servants  should  be 
gloriously  done  away  with!  To-night,  Faith's  eyes 
shine,  and  her  cheek  glows  with  the  mere  joy  of  life  and 
loveliness;  but,  to-morrow,  she  will  be  hungry  like  any 
other  mortal ;  and  there  must  be  chickens,  or  beef -steak, 
or  even  coarser  mutton  or  pork,  to  feed  the  very  roses 
that  flush  and  crown  her  girlish  beauty.  We  don't  live 
straight  from  the  spirit  impulse  yet! 

There  were  few  forms  or  faces,  truly,  that  were 
pleasanter  to  look  upon  in  the  group  that  stood,  dis- 
robed of  their  careful  outer  wrappings,  in  Mrs.  Rush- 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  H 

leigh's  dressing-room;  their  hurried  chat  and  gladsome 
greetings  distracted  with  the  drawing  on  of  gloves  and 
the  last  adjustment  of  shining  locks,  while  the  bewilder- 
ing music  was  floating  up  from  below,  mingled  with 
the  hum  of  voices  from  the  rooms  where,  as  children 
say,  "  the  party  had  begun  "  already. 

And .  Mrs.  Rushleigh,  when  Faith  paid  her  timid 
respects  in  the  drawing-room  at  last,  made  her  welcome 
with  a  peculiar  grace  and  empressement  that  had  their 
own  flattering  weight  and  charm;  for  the  lady  was  a 
sort  of  St.  Peter  of  fashion,  holding  its  mystic  keys, 
and  admitting  or  rejecting  whom  she  would;  and 
culled,  with  marvellous  tact  and  taste,  the  flower  of  the 
upgrowing  world  of  Mishaumok  to  adorn  "  her  set." 

After  which,  Faith,  claimed  at  once  by  an  eager 
aspirant,  and  beset  with  many  a  following  introduction 
and  petition,  was  drawn  to  and  kept  in  the  joyous 
whirlpool  of  the  dance,  till  she  had  breathed  in  enough 
of  delight  and  excitement  to  carry  her  quite  beyond 
the  thought  even  of  ices  and  oysters  and  jellies  and 
fruits,  and  the  score  of  unnamable  luxuries  whereto 
the  young  revellers  were  duly  summoned  at  half  past 
ten  o'clock. 

Four  days'  anticipation, — four  hours'  realization, — 
culminated  in  the  glorious  after-supper  midnight  dance, 
when,  marshalled  hither  and  thither  by  the  ingenious 
orders  of  the  band,  the  jubilant  company  found  itself, 
just  on  the  impending  stroke  of  twelve,  drawn  out 
around  the  room  in  one  great  circle;  and  suddenly  a 
hush  of  the  music,  at  the  very  poising  instant  of  time, 
left  them  motionless  for  a  moment  to  burst  out  again 
in  the  age-honored  and  heart-warming  strains  of  "  Auld 
Lang  Syne."  Hand  joining  hand  they  sang  its  chorus, 
and  when  the  last  note  had  lingeringly  died  away,  one 


12  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

after  another  gently  broke  from  their  places,  and  the 
momentary  figure  melted  out  with  the  dying  of  the 
Year,  never  again  to  be  just  so  combined.  It  was  gone, 
as  vanishes  also  every  other  phase  and  grouping  in  the 
kaleidoscope  of  Time. 

"  Now  is  the  very  '  witching  hour '  to  try  the 
Sortes ! " 

Margaret  Rushleigh  said  this,  standing  on  the  thresh- 
old of  a  little  inner  apartment  that  opened  from  the 
long  drawing-room,  at  one  end;  and  speaking  to  those 
nearest  her  in  the  scattered  groups  that  had  hardly 
ceased  bandying  back  and  forth  their  tumultuoui 
"  Happy  New  Years." 

She  held  in  her  hand  a  large  and  beautiful  volume, 
— a  gift  of  Christmas  day. 

"  Here  are  Fates  for  everybody  who  cares  to  find 
them  out ! " 

The  book  was  a  collection  of  poetical  quotations, 
arranged  by  numbers,  and  to  be  chosen  thereby,  and  the 
chance  application  taken  as  an  oracle. 

Everything  like  fortune-telling,  or  a  possible  peering 
into  the  things  of  coming  time,  has  such  a  charm! 
Especially  with  them  to  whom  the  past  is  but  a  prelude 
and  beginning,  and  for  whom  the  great,  voluminous 
Future  holds  enwrapped  the  whole  mystic  Story  of 
Life! 

"  No,  no,  this  won't  do !  "  cried  the  young  lady,  as 
circle  behind  circle  closed  and  crowded  eagerly  about 
her.  "  Fate  don't  give  out  her  revelations  in  such 
wholesale  fashion.  You  must  come  up  with  proper 
reverence,  one  by  one." 

As  she  spoke,  she  withdrew  a  little  within  the  cur- 
tained archway,  and,  placing  the  crimson-covered  book 
of  destiny  upon  an  inlaid  table,  brought  forward  a 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  13 

piano-stool,  and  seated  herself  thereon,  as  a  priestess 
upon  a  tripod. 

A  little  shyly,  one  after  another,  gaining  knowledge 
of  what  was  going  on,  the  company  strayed  in  from 
without,  and,  each  in  turn  hazarding  a  number,  received 
in  answer  the  rhyme  or  stanza  indicated ;  and  who  shall 
say  how  long  those  chance-directed  words,  chosen  for 
the  most  part  with  the  elastic  ambiguity  of  all  oracles 
of  any  established  authority,  lingered  echoing  in  the 
heads  and  hearts  of  them  to  whom  they  were  given, — 
shaping  and  confirming,  or  darkening  with  their  denial 
many  an  after  hope  and  fear? 

One  only,  of  them  all,  has  an  interest  for  us  that 
needs  a  record. 

Faith  Gartney  came  up  among  the  very  last. 

"  How  many  numbers  are  there  to  choose  from  ? " 
she  asked. 

"  Three  hundred  and  sixty-five.  The  number  of 
days  in  the  year." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  take  the  number  of  the  day ;  the 
last, — no,  I  forgot, — the  first  of  all." 

Nobody  before  had  chosen  this,  and  Margaret  read, 
in  a  clear,  gentle  voice,  not  untouched  with  the  grave 
beauty  of  its  own  words,  and  the  sweet,  earnest,  listen- 
ing look  of  the  young  face  that  bent  toward  her  to  take 
them  in, — 

"  Bouse  to  some  high  and  holy  work  of  love, 

And  thou  an  angel's  happiness  shalt  know  ; 
Shalt  bless  the  earth  while  in  the  world  above  ; 
The  good  begun  by  thee  while  here  below 
Shall  like  a  river  run.  and  broader  flow." 

Ten  minutes  later,  and  all  else  were  absorbed  in  other 
things  again, — leave-takings,  parting  chat,  and  a  few 
waltzing  a  last  measure  to  a  specially-accorded  grace 


14  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

of  music.  Faith  stood,  thoughtfully,  by  the  table 
where  the  book  was  closed  and  left.  She  quitely  re- 
opened it  at  that  first  page.  Unconscious  of  a  step 
behind  her,  her  eyes  ran  over  the  lines  again,  to  make 
their  beautiful  words  her  own. 

"  And  that  was  your  oracle,  then  ?  "  asked  a  kindly 
voice. 

Glancing  quickly  up,  while  the  timid  color  flushed 
her  cheek,  she  met  a  look  as  of  a  wise  and  watchful 
angel,  though  it  came  through  the  eye  and  smile  of  a 
gray-haired  man,  who  laid  his  hand  upon  the  page  as 
he  said, — 

"Remember, — it  is  conditional." 


CHAPTER  III. 

AUNT  HENDERSON. 

"I  nerer  met  a  manner  more  entirely  without  frill.** 

SYDNEY  SMITH. 

LATE  into  the  morning  of  the  New  Year,  Faith 
slept.  Through  her  half  consciousness  crept,  at  last, 
a  feeling  of  music  that  had  been  wandering  in  faint 
echoes  among  the  chambers  of  her  brain  all  those  hours 
of  her  suspended  life,  and  were  the  first  sensations  to 
stir  there,  when  that  mysterious  Life  flashed  back 
along  its  channels,  and  brought  a  light  more  subtle 
than  the  mere  sunshine  that  through  the  easterly  win- 
dows was  flooding  all  her  room  with  its  silent  arousal. 

Light,  and  music,  and  a  sense  of  an  unexamined, 
half -remembered  joy,  filled  her  being  and  embraced  her 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  15 

at  her  waking  on  this  New  Year's  Day.  A  moment 
she  lay  in  a  passive,  unthinking  delight;  and  then  her 
first,  full,  and  distinct  thought  shaped  itself,  as  from 
a  sweet  and  solemn  memory, — 

"  Rouse  to  some  high  and  holy  work  of  love, 
And  tiiou  an  angel's  happiness  shall  know." 

An  impulse  of  lofty  feeling  held  her  in  its  ecstasy;  a 
noble  longing  and  determination  shaped  itself,  though 
vaguely,  within  her.  For  a  little,  she  was  touched  in 
her  deepest  and  truest  nature;  she  was  uplifted  to  the 
threshold  of  a  great  resolve.  But  generalities  are  so 
grand, — details  so  commonplace  and  unsatisfying. 
What  should  she  do  ?  What  "  high  and  holy  work " 
lay  waiting  for  her? 

And,  breaking  in  upon  her  reverie, — bringing  her 
down  with  its  rough  and  common  call  to  common  duty, 
— the  second  bell  for  breakfast  rang. 

"  Oh,  dear !  It  is  no  use !  Who'll  know  what  great 
things  I've  been  wishing  and  planning,  when  I've  noth- 
ing to  show  for  it  but  just  being  late  to  breakfast? 
And  father  hates  it  so, — and  New  Year's  morning, 
too!" 

Hurrying  her  toilet,  she  repaired,  with  all  the  haste 
possible,  to  the  breakfast-room,  where  her  consciousness 
of  shortcoming  was  in  nowise  lessened  when  she  saw 
who  occupied  the  seat  at  her  father's  right  hand, — Aunt 
Henderson ! 

Aunt  Faith  Henderson,  who  had  reached  her  neph- 
ew's house  last  evening  just  after  the  young  Faith, 
her  namesake,  had  gone  joyously  off  to  "  dance  the 
Old  Year  out  and  the  New  Year  in."  Old-fashioned 
Aunt  Faith, — who  believed  most  devoutly  that  "  early 
to  bed  and  early  to  rise "  was  the  only  way  to  be 


16  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  healthy,  wealthy,  or  wise !  "  Aunt  Faith,  who  had 
never  quite  forgiven  our  young  heroine  for  having 
said,  at  the  discreet  and  positive  age  of  nine,  that 
"  she  didn't  see  what  her  father  and  mother  had  called 
her  such  an  ugly  name  for.  It  was  a  real  old-maid's 
name ! "  Whereupon,  having  asked  the  child  what 
she  would  have  preferred  as  a  substitute,  and  being 
answered,  "  Well, — Clotilda,  I  guess ;  or  Cleopatra," 
— Miss  Henderson  had  told  her  that  she  was  quite 
welcome  to  change  it  for  any  heathen  woman's  that 
she  pleased,  and  the  worse  behaved  perhaps  the  better. 
She  wouldn't  be  so  likely  to  do  it  any  discredit! 

Aunt  Henderson  had  a  downright  and  rather  ex- 
treme fashion  of  putting  things;  nevertheless,  in  her 
heart  she  was  not  unkindly. 

So  when  Faithie,  with  her  fair,  fresh  face, — a  little 
apprehensive  trouble  in  it  for  her  tardines^, — came 
in,  there  was  a  grim  bending  of  the  old  lady's  brows; 
but,  below,  a  half-belying  twinkle  in  the  eye,  that, 
long  as  it  had  looked  out  sharply  and  keenly  on  the 
things  and  people  of  this  mixed-up  world,  found  yet 
a  pleasure  in  anything  so  young  and  bright. 

"  Why,  auntie !  How  do  you  do  ? "  cried  Faith, 
cunning  culprit  that  she  was,  taking  the  "  bull  by  the 
horns,"  and  holding  out  her  hand.  "I  wish  you  a 
Happy  New  Year!  Good  morning,  father,  and 
mother  1  A  Happy  New  Year!  I'm  sorry  I'm  so 
late." 

ft  Wish  you  a  great  many,"  responded  the  great- 
aunt,  in  stereotyped  phrase.  "  It  seems  to  me,  though, 
you've  lost  the  beginning  of  this  one." 

"Oh,  no!"  replied  Faithie,  gayly.  "I  had  that 
at  the  party.  We  danced  the  New  Year  in." 

"Humph!"  said  Aunt  Henderson. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  17 

Breakfast  over,  and  Mr.  Gartney  gone  to  his  count- 
ing-room, the  parlor-girl  made  her  appearance  with  her 
mop  and  tub  of  hot  water,  to  wash  up  the  silver  and 
china. 

"  Give  me  that,"  said  Aunt  Henderson,  taking  a 
large  towel  from  the  girl's  arm  as  she  set  down  her 
tub  upon  the  sideboard.  "  You  go  and  find  some- 
thing else  to  do." 

Wherever  she  might  be, — to  be  sure,  her  round  of 
visiting  was  not  a  large  one, — Aunt  Henderson  never 
let  any  one  else  wash  up  breakfast-cups. 

This  quiet  arming  of  herself,  with  mop  and  towel, 
stirred  up  everybody  else  to  duty.  Her  niece-in-law 
laughed,  withdrew  her  feet  from  the  comfortable  fen- 
der, and  departed  to  the  kitchen  to  give  her  household 
orders  for  the  day.  Faith  removed  cups,  glasses,  forks, 
and  spoons  from  the  table  to  the  sideboard,  while  the 
maid,  returning  with  a  tray,  carried  off  to  the  lower 
regions  the  larger  dishes,  and  the  remnants  of  the 
meal. 

"  I  haven't  told  you  yet,  Elizabeth,  what  I  came 
to  town  for,"  said  Aunt  Faith,  when  Mrs.  Gartney 
came  back  into  the  breakfast-room.  "  I'm  going  to 
hunt  up  a  girl." 

*'  A  girl,  aunt !  Why,  what  has  become  of  Pru- 
dence ? " 

"  Mrs.  Pelatiah  Trowe.  That's  what's  become  of 
her.  More  fool  she." 

"  But  why  in  the  world  do  you  come  to  the  city  for 
a  servant?  It's  the  worst  possible  place.  Nineteen 
out  of  twenty  are  utterly  good  for  nothing." 

"  I'm  going  to  look  out  for  the  twentieth." 

"But  aren't  there  girls  enough  in  Kinnicutt  who 
would  be  glad  to  step  into  Prue's  place  ? " 
2 


jg  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  Of  course  there  are.  Plenty.  But  they're  all 
well  enough  off  where  they  are.  When  I  have  a  chance 
to  give  away.  I  want  to  give  it  to  somebody  that  needs 
it." 

"  I'm  afraid  you'll  hardly  find  any  efficient  girl  who 
will  appreciate  the  chance  of  going  twenty  miles  into 
the  country." 

"  I  don't  want  an  efficient  girl.  I'm  efficient  my- 
self, and  that's  enough." 

"  Going  to  train  another,  at  your  time  of  life, 
aunt  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Gartney,  in  surprise. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  either  train  a  girl,  or  let  her  train 
me;  and,  at  my  time  of  life,  I  don't  feel  to  stand  in 
need  of  that." 

"  How  shall  I  go  to  work  to  inquire  ? "  resumed 
Aunt  Henderson,  after  a  pause. 

"  Well,  there  are  the  Homes,  and  the  Offices,  and  the 
Ministers  at  Large.  At  a  Home,  they  would  probably 
recommend  you  somebody  they've  made  up  their  minds 
to  put  out  to  service,  and  she  might  or  might  not  be 
such  an  one  as  would  suit  you.  Then  at  the  Offices, 
you'll  see  all  sorts,  and  mostly  poor  ones." 

"  I'll  try  an  Office,  first,"  interrupted  Miss  Hender- 
son. "  I  want  to  see  all  sorts.  Faith,  you'll  go  with 
me,  by-and-by,  won't  you,  and  help  me  find  the  way  ?  " 

Faith,  seated  at  a  little  writing-table  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room,  busied  in  copying  into  her  album,  in 
a  clear,  neat,  but  rather  stiff  schoolgirl's  hand,  the  ora- 
cle of  the  night  before,  did  not  at  once  notice  that  she 
was  addressed. 

"  Faith,  child !  don't  you  hear  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  aunt.     What  is  it?" 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  a  what-d'ye-call-it  office  with 
me,  to-day." 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  ^9 

"  An  intelligence  office,"  explained  her  mother. 
te  Aunt  Faith  wants  to  find  a  girl." 

'  Lucus  a  non  lucendo/ "  quoted  Faith,  rather 
wittily,  from  her  little  stock  of  Latin.  "  Stupidity 
offices,  /  should  call  them,  from  the  specimens  they 
send  out." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  chit !  Don't  talk  Latin  to  me !  " 
growled  Aunt  Henderson. 

"  What  are  you  writing  ?  "  she  asked,  shortly  after, 
when  Mrs.  Gartney  had  again  left  her  and  Faith  to 
each  other.  "  Letters,  or  Latin  ?  " 

Faith  colored,  and  laughed. 

"  Only  a  fortune  that  was  told  me  last  night,"  she 
replied. 

"  Oh !  '  A  little  husband,'  I  suppose,  '  no  bigger 
than  my  thumb;  put  him  in  a  pint  pot,  and  there  bid 
him  drum.' ' 

"No,"  said  Faith,  half  seriously,  and  half  teased 
out  of  her  seriousness.  "  It's  nothing  of  that  sort, 
at  least,"  she  added,  glancing  over  the  lines  again,  "  I 
don't  think  it  means  anything  like  that." 

And  Faith  laid  down  the  book,  and  went  up  stairs 
for  a  word  with  her  mother. 

Aunt  Henderson,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  times 
when  all  the  doings  of  young  girls  were  strictly  super- 
vised, and  who  had  no  high-flown  scruples,  because 
she  had  no  mean  motives,  deliberately  walked  over  and 
fetched  the  elegant  little  volume  from  the  table,  re- 
seated herself  in  her  armchair, — felt  for  her  glasses,  and 
set  them  carefully  upon  her  nose, — and,  as  her  grand- 
niece  returned,  was  just  finishing  her  perusal  of  the 
freshly-inscribed  lines. 

"Humph!  A  good  fortune.  Only  youVe  got  to 
earn  it." 


20  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  Yes,"  said  Faith,  quite  gravely.  "  And  I  don't 
see  how.  There  don't  seem  to  be  much  that  I  can 
do." 

"  Just  take  hold  of  the  first  thing  that  comes  in 
your  way.  If  the  Lord's  got  anything  bigger  to  give 
you,  he'll  see  to  it.  There's  your  mother's  mending- 
basket  brimful  of  stockings." 

Faith  couldn't  help  laughing.  Presently  she  grew 
grave  again. 

"  Aunt  Henderson,"  said  she,  abruptly,  "  I  wish 
something  would  happen  to  me.  I  get  tired  of  living 
sometimes.  Things  don't  seem  worth  while." 

Aunt  Henderson  bent  her  head  slightly,  and  opened 
her  eyes  wide  over  the  tops  of  her  glasses. 

"  Don't  say  that  again,"  said  she.  "  Things  happen 
fast  enough.  Don't  you  dare  to  tempt  Providence." 

"  Providence  won't  be  tempted,  nor  misunderstand," 
replied  Faith,  an  undertone  of  reverence  qualifying 
her  girlish  repartee.  "  He  knows  just  what  I  mean." 

"  She's  a  queer  child,"  said  Aunt  Faith  to  herself, 
afterwards,  thinking  over  the  brief  conversation. 
"  She'll  be  something  or  nothing,  I  always  said.  I  used 
to  think  'twould  be  nothing." 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  21 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

GLORY  MCWHIEK. 

There's  beauty  waiting  to  be  born, 
And  harmony  that  makes  no  sound  ; 

And  bear  we  ever,  unawares, 
A  glory  that  hath  not  been  crowned. 

SHALL  I  try  to  give  you  a  glimpse  of  quite  another 
young  life  than  Faith  Gartney's?  One  looking  also 
vaguely,  wonderingly,  for  "  something  to  happen," — • 
that  indefinite  "  something  "  which  lies  in  everybody's 
future,  which  may  never  arrive,  and  yet  which  any 
hour  may  bring? 

Very  little  likelihood  there  has  ever  seemed  for  any 
great  joy  to  get  into  such  a  life  as  this  has  been,  that 
began,  or  at  least  has  its  earliest  memory  and  associa- 
tion, in  the  old  poorhouse  at  Stonebury. 

A  child  she«was,  of  five  years,  when  she  was  taken 
in  there  with  her  old,  crippled  grandmother. 

Peter  McWhirk  was  picked  up  dead,  from  the 
gravelled  drive  of  a  gentleman's  place,  where  he  had 
been  trimming  the  high  trees  that  shaded  it.  An  un- 
sound limb — a  heedless  movement — and  Peter  went 
straight  down,  thirty  feet,  and  out  of  life.  Out  of 
life,  where  he  had  a  trim,  comfortable  young  wife, — 
one  happy  little  child,  for  whom  skies  were  as  blue, 
and  grass  as  green,  and  buttercups  as  golden  as  for  the 
little  heiress  of  Elm  Hill,  who  was  riding  over  the 


22  FAITH  QARTN~EY'S  GIRLHOOD. 

lawn  in  her  basket-wagon,  when  Peter  met  his  death 
there, — the  hope,  also,  of  another  that  was  to  come. 

Rosa  McWhirk  and  her  baby  of  a  day  old  were 
buried  the  week  after,  together;  and  then  there  was 
nothing  left  for  Glory  and  her  helpless  grandmother 
but  the  poorhouse  as  a  present  refuge;  and  to  the  one 
death,  that  ends  all,  and  to  the  other  a  life  of  rough 
and  unremitting  work  to  look  to  for  by-and-by. 

When  Glory  came  into  this  world  where  wants  begin 
with  the  first  breath,  and  go  on  thickening  around  us, 
and  pressing  upon  us  until  the  last  one  is  supplied  to 
us — a  grave — she  wanted,  first  of  all,  a  name. 

"  Sure  what'll  I  call  the  baby  ? "  said  the  proud 
young  mother  to  the  ladies  from  the  white  corner 
house,  where  she  had  served  four  faithful  years  of  her 
maidenhood,  and  who  came  down  at  once  with  comforts 
and  congratulations.  "  They've  sint  for  the  praist, 
an'  I've  niver  bethought  of  a  name.  I  made  so  cer- 
tain 'twould  be  a  boy !  " 

"  What  a  funny  bit  of  a  thing  it  is !  "  cried  the 
younger  of  the  two  visitors,  turning  back  the  bed- 
clothes a  little  from  the  tiny,  red,  puckered  face,  with 
short,  sandy-colored  hair  standing  up  about  the  temples 
like  a  fuzz-ball. 

"  I'd  call  her  Glory.  There's  a  halo  round  her  head 
like  the  saints  in  the  pictures." 

"  Sure,  that's  jist  like  yersilf,  Miss  Mattie !  "  ex- 
claimed  Rosa,  with  a  faint,  merry  little  laugh.  "  An' 
quare  enough,  I  knew  a  lady  once't  of  the  very  name, 
in  the  ould  country.  Miss  Gloriana  O'Dowd  she  was ; 
an'  the  beauty  o'  County  Kerry.  My  Lady  Kinawley, 
she  came  to  be.  'Deed,  but  I'd  like  to  do  it,  for  the 
ould  times,  an'  for  you  thinkin'  of  it !  I'll  ask  Peter, 
anyhow !  " 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  23 

And  so  Glory  got  her  name;  and  Mattie  Hyde,  who 
gave  her  that,  gave  her  many  another  thing  that  was 
no  less  a  giving  to  the  mother  also,  before  she  was  two 
years  old.  Then  Mrs.  Hyde  and  the  young  lady,  hav- 
ing first  let  the  corner  house,  went  away  to  Europe 
to  stay  for  years;  and  when  a  box  of  tokens  from  the 
far,  foreign  lands  came  back  to  Stonebury  a  while  after, 
there  was  a  grand  shawl  for  Rosa,  and  a  pretty  braided 
frock  for  the  baby,  and  a  rosary  that  Glory  keeps  to 
this  hour,  that  had  been  blessed  by  the  Pope.  That 
was  the  last.  Mattie  and  her  mother  sailed  out  upon 
the  Mediterranean  one  day  from  the  bright  coast  of 
France  for  a  far  eastern  port,  to  see  the  Holy  Land. 
God's  Holy  Land  they  did  see,  though  they  never 
touched  those  Syrian  shores,  or  climbed  the  hills  about 
Jerusalem. 

Glory  remembered, — for  the  most  part  dimly,  for 
some  special  points  distinctly, — her  child-life  of  three 
years  in  Stonebury  poorhouse.  How  her  grandmother 
and  an  old  countrywoman  from  the  same  county  "  at 
home  "  sat  knitting  and  crooning  together  in  a  sunny 
corner  of  the  common  room  in  winter,  or  out  under  the 
stoop  in  summer;  how  she  rolled  down  the  green  bank 
behind  the  house ;  and,  when  she  grew  big  enough  to  be 
trusted  with  a  knife,  was  sent  out  to  dig  dandelions  in 
the  spring,  and  how  an  older  girl  went  with  her  round 
the  village,  and  sold  them  from  house  to  house.  How, 
at  last,  her  old  grandmother  died,  and  was  buried ;  and 
how  a  woman  of  the  village,  who  had  used  to  buy  her 
dandelions,  found  a  place  for  her  with  a  relative  of  her 
own,  in  the  ten-mile  distant  city,  who  took  Glory  to 
"  bring  up," — "  seeing,"  as  she  said,  "  there  was  no- 
body belonging  to  her  to  interfere." 

Was  there  a  day,  after  that,  that  did  not  leave  its 


24  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

searing  impress  upon  heart  and  memory,  of  the  life 
that  was  given,  in  its  every  young  pulse  and  breath, 
to  sordid  toil  for  others,  and  to  which  it  seemed  nobody 
on  earth  owed  aught  of  care  or  service  in  return? 

Clothed  and  fed,  to  be  sure,  she  was;  that  is,  she 
neither  starved,  nor  went  naked ;  but  she  was  barely 
covered  and  nourished  as  she  must  be, — as  any  beast 
of  burden  must  be, — to  do  its  owner's  work. 

It  was  a  close  little  house, — one  of  those  houses 
where  they  have  fried  dinners  so  often  that  the  smell 
never  gets  out  in  Budd  Street, — a  street  of  a  single 
side,  wedged  in  between  the  back  yards  of  more  pre- 
tentious mansions  that  stood  on  fair  parallel  avenues 
sloping  down  from  a  hill-top  to  the  water-side,  that 
Mrs.  Grubbling  lived. 

Here  Glory  McWhirk,  from  eight  years  old  to  nearly 
fifteen,  scoured  knives  and  brasses,  tended  door-bell, 
set  tables,  washed  dishes,  and  minded  the  baby ;  whom, 
at  her  peril,  she  must  "  keep  pacified," — i.  e.,  amused 
and  content,  while  its  mother  was  otherwise  busy.  For 
her,  poor  child, — baby  that  she  still,  almost,  was  her- 
self,— who  amused,  or  contented  her?  There  are  hu- 
mans with  whom  amusement  and  content  have  nothing 
to  do.  What  will  you  ?  The  world  must  go  on. 

Glory  curled  the  baby's  hair,  and  made  him  "  look 
pretty."  Mrs.  Grubbling  cut  her  little  handmaid's 
short  to  save  trouble;  so  that  the  very  determined 
yellow  locks  which,  under  more  favoring  circumstances 
of  place  and  fortune,  might  have  been  trained  into 
lovely  golden  curls  like  the  child's  who  lived  in  the 
tall  house  opposite  the  Grubblings'  door,  and  who  came, 
sometimes,  to  the  long  back-parlor  windows,  and  uncon- 
sciously shone  into  poor,  unknown  Glory's  life,  who 
watched  for  her  as  for  a  vision,, — these  locks,  I  say, 


FAITH    GAKTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  25 

stood  up  continually  in  their  restless  reaching  after 
the  fairer  destiny  that  had  been  meant  for  them,  in 
the  old  fuzz-ball  fashion;  and  Glory  grew  more  and 
more  to  justify  her  name. 

Do  you  think  she  didn't  know  what  beauty  was, — 
this  child  who  never  had  &  new  or  pretty  garment,  but 
who  wore  frocks  "  fadged  up "  out  of  old,  faded 
breadths  of  her  mistress's  dresses,  and  bonnets  with 
brims  cut  off  and  topknots  taken  down,  and  coarse 
shoes,  and  stockings  cut  out  of  the  legs  of  those  whereof 
Mrs.  Grubbling  had  worn  out  the  extremities?  Do 
you  think  she  didn't  feel  the  difference,  and  that 
it  wasn't  this  that  made  her  shuffle  along  so  with  her 
toes  in,  when  she  sped  along  the  streets  upon  her  mani- 
fold errands,  and  met  gentle-people's  children  laughing 
and  dancing  and  skipping  their  hoops  upon  the  side- 
walks ? 

I  tell  you  the  soul  shapes  to  itself  a  life,  whether  the 
outer  life  conform  to  it  or  not.  What  else  is  imagina- 
tion given  for? 

Did  you  ever  think  how  strange  it  is  that  among 
the  millions  of  human  experiences, — out  of  all  the 
numberless  combinations  of  circumstance  and  incident 
that  make  the  different  lives  of  men  and  women, — now 
unfolding  their  shifting  webs  upon  this  earth,  you  your- 
self, and  that  without  voluntary  choice,  have  just  one, 
perhaps  but  a  very  dull  and  meagre  one,  allotted  yon  ? 
With  all  the  divine  capacity  you  find  in  yourself  to 
enter  into  and  comprehend  a  life  quite  other  than  and 
foreign  to  the  daily  reality  of  your  own,  and  to  feel 
how  it  would  be  to  you  if  it  might  become  tangible  and 
actual,  did  you  ever  question  why  it  is  that  you  are 
kept  out  of  it,  and  of  all  else  save  the  one  small  and 


26  FAITH    GAKTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.' 

insufficient  history?  The  very  consciousness  of  such 
capacity  answers  you  why. 

"  No  man  lives  to  himself." 

Out  of  all  lives,  actual  and  possible,  each  one  of  us 
appropriates  continually  into  his  own.  This  is  a  world 
of  hints  only,  out  of  which  every  soul  seizes  to  itself 
what  it  needs. 

This  girl,  uncherished,  repressed  in  every  natural 
longing  to  be  and  to  have,  took  in  all  the  more  of  what 
was  possible;  for  God  had  given  her  this  glorious  in- 
sight, this  imagination,  wherewith  we  fill  up  life's 
scanty  outline,  and  grasp  at  all  that  might  be,  or  that 
elsewhere,  is.  In  her,  as  in  us  all,  it  was  often — nay, 
daily — a  discontent ;  yet  a  noble  discontent,  and  curbed 
with  a  grand,  unconscious  patience.  She  scoured  her 
knives ;  she  shuffled  along  the  streets  on  hasty  errands ; 
she  went  up  and  down  the  house  in  her  small  menial 
duties ;  she  put  on  and  off  her  coarse,  repulsive  clothing ; 
she  uttered  herself  in  her  common,  ignorant  forms  of 
speech ;  she  showed  only  as  a  poor,  low,  little  Irish  girl 
with  red  hair  and  staring,  wondering  eyes,  and  awk- 
ward movements,  and  a  frightened  fashion  of  getting 
into  everybody's  way ;  and  yet,  behind  all  this,  there  was 
another  life  that  went  on  in  a  hidden  beauty  that  you 
and  I  cannot  fathom,  save  only  as  God  gives  the  like, 
inwardly,  to  ourselves. 

There  are  persons  who  have  an  "  impediment  of 
speech,"  so  that  the  thoughts  that  shape  themselves  in 
the  brain  are  smothered  there,  and  can  never  be  born 
in  fitting  utterance.  There  are  many  who  have  an 
impediment  of  life.  A  something  wanting — withheld 
— that  hinders  the  inner  existence  from  flowering  out 
into  visible  fact  and  deed.  Flowers  it  not  somewhere  ? 
Is  there  not  building  somewhere,  all  the  while,  that 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  £7 

which  God  hath  reserved  for  them  from  the  foundation 
of  the  world  ? 

When  Glory's  mistress  cut  her  hair,  there  were 
always  tears  and  rebellion.  It  was  her  one,  eager, 
passionate  longing,  in  those  childish  days,  that  these 
locks  of  hers  should  be  let  to  grow.  She  thought  she 
could  almost  bear  anything  else,  if  only  this  stiff,  un- 
seemly crop  might  lengthen  out  into  waves  and  ringlets 
that  should  toss  in  the  wind  like  the  carefully  kempt 
tresses  of  children  she  met  in  the  streets.  She  imagined 
it  would  be  a  complete  and  utter  happiness  just  once  to 
feel  it  falling  in  its  wealth  about  her  shoulders  or  drop- 
ping against  her  cheeks;  and  to  be  able  to  look  at  it 
with  her  eyes,  and  twist  her  fingers  in  it  at  the  ends. 
And  so,  when  it  got  to  be  its  longest,  and  began  to  make 
itself  troublesome  about  her  forehead,  and  to  peep  below 
her  shabby  bonnet  in  her  neck,  she  had  a  brief  season 
of  wonderful  enjoyment  in  it.  Then  she  could  "  make 
believe  "  it  had  really  grown  out ;  and  the  comfort  she 
took  in  "  going  through  the  motions," —  pretending  to 
tuck  behind  her  ears  what  scarcely  touched  their  tips, 
and  tossing  her  head  continually,  to  throw  back  im- 
aginary masses  of  curls,  was  truly  indescribable,  and 
such  as  I  could  not  begin  to  make  you  understand. 

"  Half-witted  monkey ! "  Mrs.  Grubbling  would 
ejaculate,  contemptuously,  seeing,  with  what  she  con- 
^ceived  marvellous  penetration,  the  half  of  her  little 
servant's  thought,  and  so  pronouncing  from  her  own 
half-wit.  Then  the  great  shears  came  out,  and  the 
instinct  of  grace  and  beauty  in  the  child  was  pitilessly 
outraged,  and  her  soul  mutilated,  as  it  were,  in  every 
clip  of  the  inexorable  shears. 

Glory  lived  half  her  life  in  that  back  parlor  of  the 
Pembertons.  The  little  golden-haired  vision  went  and 


28  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

came;  it  sat  by  its  mother's  side  in  the  firelight,  before 
the  curtains  were  drawn  down ;  it  had  a  party,  now  and 
then,  of  other  little  radiances  like  unto  itself;  and 
Glory,  "  tending  baby "  in  Mrs.  Grubbling's  fusty 
chamber,  watched  their  games  through  the  long,  large- 
paned  windows,  and  reproduced  them  next  day,  when 
the  chores  were  done,  and  she  and  baby  could  go  up 
stairs  and  "have  a  party;"  bidding  thereto,  on  his 
solemn  promise  of  good  behavior,  "  Bubby,"  otherwise 
Master  Herbert  Clarence  Grabbling;  ranging,  also,  six 
chairs,  to  represent  or  to  accommodate  invisible  "  com- 
pany." 

And,  for  me,  I  can't  help  thinking  there  may  have 
been  company  there. 

She  was  always  glad — poor  Glory — when  the  spring- 
time came.  The  water  running  in  the  gutters;  the 
blades  of  grass  and  tufts  of  chickweed  that  grew  under 
the  walls ;  the  soft,  damp  air  that  betokened  the  mollify- 
ing season, — these  touched  her  with  a  delight,  and  gave 
her  a  sense  of  joy  and  beauty  that  might  have  been  no 
deeper  or  keener  if  it  had  come  to  her  through  the 
ministries  of  great  rivers,  and  green  meadows,  and  all 
the  wide  breeze  and  blue  of  the  circling  sky. 

She  took  Bubby  and  Baby  down  to  the  Common,  of 
a  May-day,  to  see  the  possessions  and  the  paper-crowned 
queens;  and  stood  there  in  her  stained  and  drabbled 
dress,  with  the  big  year-and-a-half-old  baby  in  her  arms, 
and  so  quite  at  the  mercy  of  Master  Herbert  Clarence, 
who  defiantly  skipped  off  down  the  avenues,  and  almost 
out  of  her  sight, — she  looking  after  him  in  helpless  dis- 
may, lest  he  should  get  a  splash  or  a  tumble,  or  be  al- 
together lost ;  and  then  what  would  the  mistress  say  ? 
Standing  there  so, — the  troops  of  children  in  their 
holiday  trim  passing  close  beside  her, — her  young 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  39 

heart  turned  bitter  for  a  moment,  as  it  sometimes 
would;  and  her  one  utterance  of  all  that  swelled  her 
martyr-soul  broke  forth, — 

"  Laws  a  me !  Sech  lots  of  good  times  in  the  world, 
and  I  ain't  in  'em !  " 

And  then  she  meekly  turned  off  homeward,  lugging 
the  baby  in  her  arms,  who  peremptorily  declined  her 
enticing  suggestion  when  they  passed  the  Common 
gates,  that  he  should  get  down,  and  "  go  patty,  patty, 
on  the  sidewalk ;  "  Master  Herbert,  who  had  in  the 
midst  of  his  most  reckless  escapades  kept  one  eye  care- 
fully upon  her  movements,  racing  after  her,  vocifera- 
ting that  he  would  "  go  right  and  tell  his  ma  how  Glory 
ran  away  from  him." 

Yet,  that  afternoon,  when  Mrs.  Grubbling  went  out 
shopping,  and  left  her  to  her  own  devices  with  the 
children,  how  jubilantly  she  trained  the  battered  chairs 
in  line,  and  put  herself  at  the  head,  with  Bubby's 
scarlet  tippet  wreathed  about  her  upstart  locks,  and 
made  a  May  Day ! 

I  say,  she  had  the  soul  and  essence  of  the  very  life 
she  seemed  to  miss. 

There  were  shabby  children's  books  about  the  Grub- 
bling domicile,  that  had  been  the  older  child's — 
Cornelia's — and  had  descended  to  Master  Herbert,  while 
yet  his  only  pastime  in  them  was  to  scrawl  them  full  of 
pencil-marks,  and  tear  them  into  tatters.  These,  one 
by  one,  Glory  rescued,  and  hid  away,  and  fed  upon, 
piecemeal,  in  secret.  She  could  read,  at  least, — this 
poor,  denied  unfortunate.  Peter  McWhirk  had 
taught  his  child  her  letters  in  happy,  humble  Sundays 
and  holidays  long  ago;  and  Mrs.  Grubbling  had  begun 
by  sending  her  to  a  primary  school  for  a  while,  irregu- 
larly, when  she  could  be  spared;  and  when  she  hadn't 


30  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

just  torn  her  frock,  or  worn  out  her  shoes,  or  it  didn't 
rain,  or  she  hadn't  been  sent  of  an  errand  and  come 
back  too  late, — which  reasons,  with  a  multitude  of 
others,  constantly  recurring,  reduced  the  school-days 
in  the  year  to  a  number  whose  smallness  Mrs.  Grub- 
bling  would  have  indignantly  disputed,  had  it  been 
calculated  and  set  before  her;  she  being  one  of  those 
not  uncommon  persons  who  regard  a  duty  continually 
evaded  as  one  continually  performed,  it  being  neces- 
sarily just  as  much  on  their  minds;  till,  at  last,  Her- 
bert had  a  winter's  illness,  and  in  summer  it  wasn't 
worth  while,  and  the  winter  after,  baby  came,  so  that 
of  course  she  couldn't  be  spared  at  all;  and  it  seemed 
little  likely  now  that  she  ever  again  would  be.  But 
she  kept  her  spelling-book,  and  read  over  and  over 
what  she  knew,  and  groped  her  way  slowly  into  more, 
till  she  promoted  herself  from  that  to  "  Mother  Goose," 
— from  "  Mother  Goose  "  to  "  Fables  for  the  Nursery," 
— and  now,  her  ever  fresh  and  unfailing  feast  was  the 
"  Child's  Own  Book  of  Fairy  Tales,"  and  an  odd  volume 
of  the  "  Parents'  Assistant."  She  picked  out,  slowly, 
the  gist  of  these,  with  a  lame  and  uncertain  interpre- 
tation. She  lived  for  weeks  with  Beauty  and  the 
Beast, — with  Cinderella, — with  the  good  girl  who 
worked  for  the  witch,  and  shook  her  feather-bed  every 
morning;  till  at  last,  given  leave  to  go  home  and  see 
her  mother,  the  gold  and  silver  shower  came  down  about 
her,  departing  at  the  back-door.  Perhaps  she  should 
get  her  pay,  sometime,  and  go  home  and  see  her  mother. 
Meanwhile,  she  indentified  herself  with — lost  her- 
self utterly  in — these  imaginary  lives.  She  was,  for 
the  time,  Cinderella ;  she  was  Beauty ;  she  was  above 
all,  the  Fair  One  with  Golden  Locks;  she  was  Simple 
Susan  going  to  be  May  Queen ;  sne  dwelt  in  the  old 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  (ft 

Castle  of  Rossmore,  with  the  Irish  Orphans.  The  little 
Grubbling  house  in  Budd  Street  was  peopled  all  through, 
in  every  corner,  with  her  fancies.  Don't  tell  me  she 
had  nothing  but  her  niggardly  outside  living  there. 

And  the  wonder  began  to  come  up  in  her  mind,  as  it 
did  in  Faith  Gartney's,  whether  and  when  "  something 
might  happen  "  to  her. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SOMETHING   HAPPENS. 

Athirst !  athirst !    The  sandy  soil 
Bears  no  glad  trace  of  leaf  or  tree ; 

No  grass-blade  sigheth  to  the  heaven 
Its  little  drop  of  ecstasy. 

Yet  other  fields  are  spreading  wide 
Green  bosoms  to  the  bounteous  sun ; 

And  palms  and  cedars  shall  sublime 
Their  rapture  for  thee, — waiting  one  t 

"  TAKU  us  down  to  see  the  apple-woman,"  said 
Master  Herbert,  going  out  with  Glory  and  the  baby  one 
daywhen  his  school  didn't  keep,  and  Mrs.  Grubbling  had 
a  headache,  and  wanted  to  get  them  all  off  out  of  the 
way. 

Bridget  Foye  sat  at  her  apple-stand  in  the  cheery 
morning  sunlight,  red  cheeks  and  russets  ranged  fair 
and  tempting  before  her,  and  a  pile  of  roasted  pea- 
nuts, and  one  of  delicate  molasses-candy,  such  as  nobody 
but  she  knew  how  to  make,  at  either  end  of  the  board. 

Bridget  Foye  was  the  tidiest,  kindliest,  merriest 
apple-woman  in  all  Mishaumok.  Everybody  whose 


32  FAITH   GARTNP;Y'S   GIRLHOOD. 

daily  path  lay  across  that  southeast  corner  of  the  Com- 
mon, knew  her  well,  and  had  a  smile,  and  perhaps  a 
penny  for  her;  and  got  a  smile  and  a  God-bless-you, 
and,  for  the  penny,  a  rosy  or  a  golden  apple,  or  some  of 
her  crisp  candy  in  return. 

Glory  and  the  baby,  sitting  down  to  rest  on  one  of  the 
benches  close  by,  as  their  habit  was,  had  one  day  made 
a  nearer  acquaintance  with  blithe  Bridget.  I  think  it 
began  with  Glory — who  held  the  baby  up  to  see  the 
passing  show  of  a  portion  of  a  menagerie  in  the  street, 
and  heard  two  girls,  stopping  just  before  her  too  look, 
likewise,  say  they'd  go  and  see  it  perform  next  day, — 
uttering  something  of  her  old  soliloquy  about  "  good 
times,"  and  why  she  "  warn't  ever  in  any  of  'em." 
However  it  was,  Mrs.  Foye,  in  her  buxom  cheeriness, 
was  drawn  to  give  some  of  it  forth  to  the  uncouth- 
looking,  companionless  girl,  and  not  only  began  a  chat 
with  her,  after  the  momentary  stir  in  the  street  was 
over,  and  she  had  settled  herself  upon  her  stool,  and 
leaning  her  back  against  a  tree,  set  vigorously  to  work 
again  at  knitting  a  stout  blue  yarn  stocking,  but  also 
treated  Bubby  and  Baby  to  some  bits  of  her  sweet 
merchandise,  and  told  them  about  the  bears  and  the 
monkeys  that  had  gone  by,  shut  up  in  the  gay,  red-and- 
yellow-paisted  wagons. 

It  was  between  her  busy  times  of  trade.  The  buzz 
of  bigger  trade  and  toil  had  long  ago  begun  "  down 
town,"  and  the  last  tardy  straggler  had  passed  by,  on 
his  way  to  the  day's  labor  of  hand  or  brain.  Children 
were  all  in  school.  Here,  in  the  midst  of  the  great, 
bustling  city,  was  a  green  hush  and  quiet;  and  from 
this  until  noon  Bridget  had  but  chance  and  scattering 
custom.  Nursemaids  and  babies  didn't  afford  her 
much.  Besides,  they  kept,  for  the  most  part,  to  the 


FAITH    GARTNF.Y'S    GIRLHOOD.  33 

upper  walks.  There  are  fashions  among  nursemaids 
as  among  their  betters. 

Glory  had  no  acquaintance  among  the  smart  damsels 
who  perambulated  certain  exclusive  localities,  in  charge 
of  elegant  little  carriages  heaped  up  inside  with  lace, 
and  feathers,  and  embroideries,  in  the  midst  of  which 
peeped  out  with  difficulty  the  wee  human  face  which 
served  as  nucleus  and  excuse  for  all  the  show. 

So  it  became,  after  this  first  opening,  Glory's  chief 
pleasure  to  get  out  with  the  children  now  and  then,  of  a 
sunny  day,  arid  sit  here  on  the  bench  by  Bridget  Foye, 
and  hear  her  talk,  and  tell  her,  confidentially,  some  of 
her  small,  incessant  troubles.  It  was  one  more  life  to 
draw  from, — a  hearty,  bright,  and  wholesome  life, 
beside.  She  had,  at  last,  in  this  great,  tumultuous, 
indifferent  city,  a  friendship  and  a  resource  of  her 
own. 

But  there  was  a  certain  fair  spot  of  delicate  honor  in 
Glory's  nature  that  would  not  let  her  bring  Bubby  and 
Baby  in  any  apparent  hope  of  what  they  might  get, 
gratuitously,  into  their  mouths.  She  laid  it  down,  a 
rule,  with  Master  Herbert,  that  he  was  not  to  go  to  the 
apple-stand  with  her  unless  he  had  first  put  by  a  penny 
for  a  purchase.  And  so  unflinchingly  she  adhered  to 
this  determination,  that  sometimes  weeks  went  by, — 
hard,  weary  weeks,  without  a  bit  of  pleasantness  for 
her ;  weeks  of  sore  pining  for  a  morsel  of  heart-food, — 
before  she  was  free  of  her  own  conscience  to  go  and 
take  it. 

Bridget  told  stories  to  Herbert, — strange,  nonsensical 
fables,  to  be  sure, — stuff  that  many  an  overwise  mother, 
bringing  up  her  children  by  hard  rule  and  theory,  might 
have  utterly  forbidden  as  harmful  trash, — yet  that  never 
put  an  evil  into  his  heart,  nor  crowded,  I  dare  to  say,  a 
3 


34  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

better  thought  out  of  his  brain.  Glory  liked  the  stories 
as  well,  almost,  as  the  child.  One  moral  always  ran 
through  them  all.  Troubles  always,  somehow,  came  to 
an  end ;  good  creatures  and  children  got  safe  out  of  them 
all,  and  lived  happy  ever  after;  and  the  fierce,  and 
,  cunning,  and  bad, — the  wolves,  and  foxes,  and  witches, 
— trapped  themselves  in  their  own  wickedness,  and  came 
to  deplorable  ends. 

"  Tell  us  about  the  little  red  hen,"  said  Herbert,  pay- 
ing his  money,  and  munching  his  candy. 

"  An,  thin  ye'll  trundle  yer  hoop  out  to  the  big  tree, 
an'  lave  Glory  an'  me  our  lane  for  a  minute  ?  " 

"  Faith,  an'  I  will  that,"  said  the  boy, — aping, 
ambitiously,  the  racy  Irish  accent. 

"  Well,  thin,  there  was  once't  upon  a  time,  away  off  in 
the  ould  country,  livin'  all  her  lane  in  the  woods,  in  a 
wee  bit  iv  a  house  be  herself,  a  little  rid  hin.  Nice  an' 
quite  she  was,  and  nivir  did  no  kind  o'  harrum  in  her 
life.  An'  there  lived  out  over  the  hill,  in  a  din  o'  the 
rocks,  a  crafty  ould  felly  iv  a  fox.  An'  this  same  ould 
villain  iv  a  fox,  he  laid  awake  o'  nights,  and  he  prowled 
round  shly  iv  a  daytime,  thinkin'  always  so  busy  how 
he'd  git  the  little  rid  hin,  an'  carry  her  home  an'  bile 
her  up  for  his  shupper.  But  the  wise  little  rid  hin 
nivir  went  intil  her  bit  iv  a  house,  but  she  locked  the 
door  afther  her,  an'  pit  the  kay  in  her  pocket.  So  the 
ould  rashkill  iv  a  fox,  he  watched,  an'  he  prowled,  an' 
he  laid  awake  nights,  till  he  came  all  to  skin  an'  bone, 
on'  sorra  a  ha'porth  o'  the  little  rid  hin  could  he  git  at. 
But  at  lasht  there  came  a  shcame  intil  his  wicked  ould 
head,  an'  he  tuk  a  big  bag  one  mornin',  over  his  should- 
her,  and  he  says  till  his  mother,  says  he,  '  Mother,  have 
the  pot  all  bilin'  agin'  I  come  home,  for  I'll  bring  the 
little  rid  hin  to-night  for  our  shupper.'  An'  away  he 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  35 

wint,  over  the  hill,  an'  came  craping  shly^  and  soft 
through  the  woods  to  where  the  little  rid  hin  lived  in  her 
shnug  bit,  iv  a  house.  An'  shure,  jist  at  the  very 
minute  that  he  got  along,  out  comes  the  little  rid  hin  out 
iv  the  door,  to  pick  up  shticks  to  bile  her  tay-kettle. 
1  Begorra,  now,  but  I'll  have  yees,'  says  the  shly  ould 
fox,  and  in  he  shlips,  unbeknownst,  intil  the  house,  an' 
hides  behind  the  door.  An'  in  comes  the  little  rid  hin, 
a  minute  afther,  with  her  apron  full  of  shticks,  an' 
shuts  to  the  door  an'  locks  it,  an'  pits  the  kay  in  her 
pocket.  An'  thin  she  turns  round, — an'  there  shtands 
the  baste  iv  a  fox  in  the  corner.  Well,  thin,  what  did 
she  do,  but  jist  dhrop  down  her  shticks,  and  fly  up  in  a; 
great  fright  and  flutter  to  the  big  bame  acrass  inside  o' 
the  roof,  where  the  fox  couldn't  get  at  her  ? 

"  '  Ah,  ha !  '  says  the  ould  fox,  l  I'll  soon  bring  yees 
down  out  o'  that !  '  An'  he  began  to  whirrul  round,  an' 
round,  an'  round,  fashter  an'  fashter  an'  fashter,  on  the 
floor,  after  his  big,  bushy  tail,  till  the  little  rid  hin 
got  so  dizzy  wid  lookin',  that  she  jist  tumbled  down  off 
the  bame,  and  the  fox  whipped  her  up  and  popped  her 
intil  his  bag,  and  shtarted  off  home  in  a  minute.  An' 
he  wint  up  the  wood,  an'  down  the  wood,  half  the  day 
long,  with  the  little  rid  hin  shut  up  shmotherin'  in  the 
bag.  Sorra  a  know  she  knowd  where  she  was,  at  all, 
at  all.  She  thought  she  was  all  biled  an'  ate  up,  an' 
finished,  shure!  But,  by  an'  by,  she  renumbered  her- 
self, an'  pit  her  hand  in  her  pocket,  and  tuk  out  her 
little  bright  schissors,  and  shnipped  a  big  hole  in  the 
bag  behind,  an'  out  she  leapt,  an'  picked  up  a  big  shtone 
an'  popped  it  intil  the  bag,  an'  rin  aff  home,  an'  locked 
the  door. 

"  An'  the  fox  he  tugged  away  up  over  the  hill,  with 
the  big  shtone  at  his  back  thumpiu'  his  shouldhers, 


3(3  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

thinkin'  to  himself  how  heavy  the  little  rid  hin  was, 
an'  what  a  fine  shupper  he'd  have.  An'  whin  he  came 
in  sight  iv  his  din  in  the  rocks,  and  shpied  his  ould 
mother  a  watchin'  for  him  at  the  door,  he  says,  *  Mother ! 
have  ye  the  pot  bilin'  ? '  An'  the  ould  mother  says, 
1  Sure  an'  it  is ;  an'  have  ye  the  little  rid  hin  ? '  '  Yes, 
jist  here  in  me  bag.  Open  the  lid  o'  the  pot  till  I  pit 
her  in,'  says  he. 

"  An'  the  ould  mother  fox  she  lifted  the  lid  o'  the  pot, 
and  the  rashkill  untied  the  bag,  and  hild  it  over  the 
pot  o'  bilin'  wather,  an'  shuk  in  the  big,  heavy  shtone. 
An'  the  bilin'  wather  shplashed  up  all  over  the  rogue 
iv  a  fox,  an'  his  mother,  an'  shcalded  them  both  to 
death.  An'  the  little  rid  hin  lived  safe  in  her  house 
foriver  afther." 

"  Ah !  "  breathed  Bubby,  in  intense  relief,  for  per- 
haps the  twentieth  time.  "  Now  tell  about  the  girl  that 
went  to  seek  her  fortune !  " 

"  Away  wid  ye !  "  cried  Bridget  Foye,  "  Kape  yer 
promish,  an'  lave  that  till  ye  come  back !  " 

So  Herbert  and  his  hoop  trundled  off  to  the  big 
tree. 

"  An'  how  are  yees  now,  honey  ?  "  says  Bridget  to 
Glory,  a  whole  catechism  of  questions  in  the  one  in- 
quiry. "  Have  ye  come  till  any  good  times  yit  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Foye,"  says  Glory,  "  I  think  I'm  tied  up 
tight  in  the  bag,  an'  I'll  never  get  out,  except  it's  into 
the  hot  water !  " 

"  An'  havint  ye  nivir  a  pair  iv  schissors  in  yer 
pocket  ?  "  asks  Bridget. 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  poor  Glory,  hopelessly.  And 
just  then  Master  Herbert  coines  trundling  back,  and 
Bridget  tells  him  the  story  of  the  girl  that  went  to  seek 
her  fortune  and  came  to  be  a  queen. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  37 

Glory  half  thinks  that,  some  day  or  other,  she,  too, 
will  start  off  and  seek  her  fortune. 

The  next  morning,  Sunday, — never  a  holiday,  and 
scarcely  a  holy  day  to  her, — Glory  sits  at  the  front 
window,  with  the  inevitable  baby  in  her  arms. 

Mrs.  Grubbling  is  up  stairs  getting  ready  for  church. 
After  baby  has  his  forenoon  drink,  and  is  got  off  to 
sleep, — supposing  he  shall  be  complaisant,  and  go, — 
Glory  is  to  dust  up,  and  set  table,  and  warm  the  dinner, 
and  be  all  ready  to  bring  it  up  when  the  elder  Grub- 
bling shall  have  returned,  a  hungered. 

Out  at  the  Pembertans'  green  gate  she  sees  the  tidy 
parlor-maid  come,  in  her  smart  shawl  and  new,  bright 
ribbons ;  holding  up  her  pretty  printed  mousseline  dress 
with  one  hand,  as  she  steps  down  upon  the  street,  and 
so  revealing  the  white  hem  of  a  clean  starched  skirt; 
while  the  other  hand  is  occupied  with  the  little  Catholic 
prayer-book  and  a  folded  handkerchief.  Actually, 
gloves  on  her  hands,  too.  The  gate  closes  with  a  cord 
and  pulley  after  her,  and  somehow  the  hem  of  the  fresh, 
outspreading  crinoline  gets  caught  in  it,  as  it  shuts.  So 
she  turns  half  round,  and  takes  both  hands  to  push  it 
open  and  release  herself.  Doing  so,  something  slips 
from  between  the  folds  of  her  handkerchief,  and  drops 
upon  the  ground.  A  bright  half  dollar,  which  was 
going  to  pay  some  of  her  little  church  dues  to-day. 
And  she  hurries  on,  never  missing  it  out  of  her  grasp, 
and  is  half  way  down  the  side  street  before  Glory  can 
set  the  baby  suddenly  on  the  carpet,  rush  out  at  the 
front  door,  regardless  that  Mrs.  Grubbling's  chamber 
window  overlooks  her  from  above,  pick  up  the  coin, 
and  overtake  her. 

"  I  saw  you  drop  it  by  the  gate,"  is  all  she  says,  as 
she  puts  it  into  Katie  Ryan's  hand. 


38  FAITH   GARTXEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Katie  stares  with  surprise,  turning  round  at  the 
touch  upon  her  shoulder,  and  beholding  the  strange 
figure,  and  the  still  stranger  evidence  of  honesty  and 
good-will. 

"  Indeed,  and  I'm  thoroughly  obliged  to  ye,"  says 
she,  barely  in  time,  for  the  odd  figure  is  already  re- 
treating up  the  street.  "  It's  the  red-headed  girl  over 
at  Grubblings,"  she  continues  to  herself.  "  Well,  any- 
how, she's  an  honest,  kind-hearted  crature,  and  I'll 
not  forget  it  of  her." 

Glory  has  made  another  friend. 

"  Well,  Glory  McWhirk,  this  is  very  pretty  doings 
indeed !  "  began  Mrs.  Grubbling,  in  a  high  key,  which 
had  a  certain  peculiar  ring  also  of  satisfaction  in  it,  at 
finding  fair  and  obvious  reason  this  time  for  a  hearty 
fault-finding, — meeting  the  little  handmaiden  at  the 
parlor  door  whither  she  had  hurried  down  to  confront 
her  in  her  delinquency, — "  So  this  is  the  way,  is  it,  when 
my  back  is  turned  for  a  minute?  That  poor  baby 
dumped  down  on  the  floor,  to  crawl  up  to  the  hot  stove, 
or  do  any  other  horrid  thing  he  likes,  while  you  go 
flacketting  out,  bareheaded,  into  the  streets,  after  a  top- 
ping jade  like  that  ?  You  can't  have  any  high-flown  ac- 
quaintances while  you  live  in  my  house,  I  tell  you  now, 
once  and  for  all.  Are  you  going  to  take  up  that  baby 
or  not  ?  "  Mrs.  Grubbling  had  been  thus  far  effectually 
heading  Glory  off,  by  standing  square  in  the  parlor 
doorway.  "  Or  perhaps,  I'd  better  stay  at  home  and 
take  care  of  him  myself,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  of  super- 
lative irony,  as  suggesting  an  alternative  not  only  utterly 
absurd  and  inadmissible,  but  actually  appalling, — as  if 
she  had  proposed  to  take  off  her  head,  instead  of  her 
bonnet,  and  sacrifice  that  to  the  temporary  amusement 
of  her  child,  and  the  relief  of  Glory. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  39 

Poor  Glory,  meekly  murmuring  that  it  was  only  to 
give  back  some  money  the  girl  had  dropped,  slid  past 
her  mistress  submissively,  like  a  sentry  caught  off  his 
post  and  warned  of  mortal  punishment,  and  shouldered 
arms  once  more ;  that  is,  picked  up  the  baby,  who,  as  if 
taking  the  cue  from  his  mother,  and  made  conscious 
of  his  grievance,  had  at  this  moment  begun  to  cry. 

Mrs.  Grubbling,  notwithstanding  her  shaken  confi- 
dence, put  on  her  gloves,  of  which  she  had  been  sewing 
up  the  tips,  just  now,  by  the  window,  when  she  wit- 
nessed Glory's  escapade,  and  departed,  leaving  the  girl 
to  her  "  pacifying "  office,  sufficiently  secure  that  it 
would  be  fulfilled. 

Glory  had  a  good  cry  of  her  own  first,  and  then, 
"  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone,"  pacified  herself  and 
the  baby  "  all  under  one." 

After  this,  Katie  Ryan  never  came  out  at  the  green 
gate,  of  a  Sunday  on  the  way  to  church,  or  of  a  week- 
day to  run  down  the  little  back  street  of  an  errand,  but 
she  gave  a  glance  up  at  the  Grubblings'  windows;  and 
if  she  caught  sight  of  Glory's  illumined  head,  nodded 
her  own,  with  its  pretty,  dark  brown  locks,  quite  pleas- 
ant and  friendly.  And  between  these  chance  recogni- 
tions of  Katie's,  and  the  good  apple-woman's  occasional 
sympathy,  the  world  began  to  brighten  a  little,  even  for 
poor  Glory. 

Still,  good  times  went  on, — grand,  wonderful  good 
times, — all  around  her.  And  she  caught  distant 
glimpses,  but  "  wasn't  in  'em." 

One  day,  as  she  hurried  home  from  the  grocer's  with 
half-a-dozen  eggs  and  two  lemons,  Katie  ran  out  from 
the  gate,  and  met  her  half  way  down  Budd  Street. 

"  I've  been  watchin'  for  ye,"  said  she.  "  I  seen  ye 
go  out  of  an  errand,  an'  I've  been  lookin'  for  ye  back. 


40  FAITH   GAKTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

There's  to  be  a  grand  party  at  our  house  to-morrow 
night,  an'  I  thought  may  be  ye'd  like  to  get  lave,  an' 
run  over  to  take  a  peep  at  it.  Put  on  yer  best  frock, 
and  make  yer  hair  tidy,  an'  I'll  see  to  yer  gettin'  a  good 
chance." 

Poor  Glory  colored  up,  as  Mrs.  Gmbbling  might 
have  done  if  the  President's  wife  had  bidden  her.  Not 
so,  either.  With  a  glow  of  feeling,  and  an  oppression 
of  gratitude,  and  a  humility  of  delight,  that  Mrs.  Grub- 
bling,  under  any  circumstances  whatever,  could  have 
known  nothing  about. 

"  If  I  only  can,"  she  managed  to  utter,  "  and,  any- 
how, I'm  sure  I'm  thankful  to  ye  a  thousand  times." 

And  that  night  she  sat  up  in  her  little  attic  room, 
after  everybody  else  was  in  bed,  mending,  in  a  poor 
fashion,  a  rent  in  the  faded  "  best  frock,"  and  sewing  a 
bit  of  cotton  lace  in  the  neck  thereof  that  she  had 
picked  out  of  the  ragbag,  and  surreptitiously  washed 
and  ironed. 

Next  morning,  she  went  about  her  homely  tasks  with 
an  alacrity  that  Mrs.  Grubbling,  knowing  nothing  of  the 
hope  that  had  been  let  in  upon  her  dreariness,  attributed 
wholly  to  the  salutary  effect  of  a  "  good  scolding  "  she 
had  administered  the  day  before.  The  work  she  got 
out  of  the  girl  that  Thursday  forenoon!  Never  once 
did  Glory  leave  her  scrubbing,  or  her  dusting,  or  her 
stove-polishing,  to  glance  from  the  windows  into  the 
street,  though  the  market-boys,  and  the  waiters,  and 
the  confectioners'  parcels  were  going  in  at  the  Pember- 
tons'  gate,  and  the  man  from  the  green-house,  even, 
drove  his  cart  up,  filled  with  beautiful  plants  for  the 
staircase. 

She  waited,  as  in  our  toils  we  wait  for  Heaven,—- 
trusting  to  the  joy  that  was  to  come. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  41 

After  dinner,  she  spoke,  with  fear  and  trembling. 
Her  lips  turned  quite  white  with  anxiety  as  she  stood 
before  Mrs.  Grubbling  with  the  baby  in  her  arms. 

The  lady  had  been  far  from  unobservant,  on  her  own 
part,  all  the  day,  of  what  was  going  on  upon  her  richer 
neighbor's  premises.  Her  spirit  was  not  attuned  to 
gentle  charity  just  then.  Her  mood  was  not  that  of 
gracious  compliance.  Let  us  be  pitiful  to  her,  also. 
She,  too,  saw  "  good  times  "  going  on,  and  felt,  bitterly, 
that  she  "  wasn't  in  'em." 

"  Please,  mum,"  says  Glory,  tremulously,  "  Katie 
Ryan  asked  me  over  for  a  little  while  to-night  to  look  at 
the  party." 

Mrs.  Grubbling  actually  felt  a  jealousy,  as  if  her 
poor,  untutored  handmaid  were  taking  precedence  of 
herself. 

"  What  party  ?  "  she  snapped, — nothing  else  occur- 
ring to  her,  in  the  sudden  shock,  to  say. 

"  At  the  Pembertons',  mum.  I  thought  you  knew 
about  it." 

"  And  what  if  I  do  ?     Maybe  I'm  going,  myself." 

Glory  opened  her  eyes  wide  in  mingled  consternation 
and  surprise. 

"  I  didn't  think  you  was,  mum,     But  if  you  is — " 

"  You're  willing,  I  suppose,"  retorted  her  mistress, 
laughing,  in  a  bitter  way.  "  I'm  very  much  obliged. 
But  I'm  going  out  to-night,  anyhow,  whether  it's  there 
or  not,  and  you  can't  be  spared.  Besides,  you  needn't 
think  you're  going  to  begin  with  going  out  evenings  yet 
a  while.  At  your  age!  A  pretty  thing!  There, — go 
along,  and  don't  bother  me." 

Glory  went  along;  and  only  the  baby — of  mortal 
listeners — heard  the  suffering  cry  that  went  up  from  her 
poor,  pinched,  and  chilled,  and  disappointed  heart. 


42  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  Oh,  baby,  baby !  it  was  too  good  a  time !  I'd 
ought  to  a  knowed  I  couldn't  be  in  it !  " 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grubbling  did  go  out  that  night 
Whether  it  was  a  sudden  thought,  suggested  by  Glory's 
application,  or  a  previous  resolve  adopted  by  the  mis- 
tress that  she  might  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  tantalizing 
merriment  opposite,  I  will  not  undertake  to  say.  It  is 
sufficient  that  there  was  a  benefit  play  at  one  of  the 
secondary  theatres,  and  that  Mrs.  Grubbling  there  for- 
got her  jealousies,  and  the  pangs,  so  far  as  she  had  at  all 
understood  them,  of  Glory  McWhirk. 

So  safe  as  she  felt,  having  bidden  her  stay,  that 
Glory  would  be  faithful  at  her  post,  and  "  mind  "  her 
children  well ! 

Only  a  stone's  throw  from  those  brightly-lighted  win- 
dows of  the  Pembertons'.  Their  superfluous  radiance 
pouring  out  lavishly  across  the  narrow  street,  searched 
even  through  the  dim  panes  behind  which  Glory  sat, 
resting  her  tired  arms,  after  tucking  away  their  ordinary- 
burden  'in  his  crib,  and  answering  Herbert's  weari- 
some questions,  who  from  his  trundle-bed  kept  asking, 
ceaselessly, — 

"  What  are  they  doing  now  ?  Can't  you  see, 
Glory?" 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  said  Glory,  breathlessly,  as  a  burst 
of  brilliant  melody  floated  over  to  her  ear.  "  They're 
making  music  now.  Don't  you  hear  ?  " 

"  No.  How  can  I,  with  my  head  in  the  pillow  ? 
I'm  coming  there  to  sit  with  you,  Glory."  And  the  boy 
scrambled  from  his  bed  to  the  window. 

"  No,  no !  you'll  ketch  cold.  Besides,  you'd  oughter 
go  to  sleep.  Well, — only  for  a  little  bit  of  a  minute, 
then,"  as  Herbert  persisted,  and  climbing  upon  her  lap, 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  43 

flattened  his  face  against  the  window-pane,  to  look  as 
closely  as  might  be  at  the  show. 

Glory  gathered  up  her  skirt  about  his '  shoulders  and 
held  him  for  a  while,  begging  him  uneasily,  over  and 
over,  to  "  be  a  good  boy,  and  go  back  to  bed."  No ;  he 
wouldn't  be  a  good  boy,  and  he  wouldn't  go  back  to  bed, 
till  the  music  paused.  Then,  by  dint  of  promising  that 
if  it  began  again  she  would  open  the  window  a  "  teenty 
little  crack,"  so  that  he  might  hear  it  better,  she  coaxed 
him  to  the  point  of  yielding,  and  tucked  him,  chilly, 
yet  half  unwilling,  in  the  trundle. 

Back  again,  to  look  and  listen.  And,  oh,  wonderful 
and  unexpected  fortune !  A  beneficent  hand  has  drawn 
up  the  white  linen  shade  at  one  of  the  back  parlor  win- 
dows to  slide  the  sash  a  little  from  the  top.  It  was 
Katie,  whom  her  young  mistress,  standing  with  her 
partner  at  that  corner  of  the  room,  had  called  in  from 
the  hill  to  do  it. 

"  ITo,  no,"  whispered  the  young  lady,  hastily,  as  her 
companion  moved  to  render  her  the  service  she  desired, 
"  let  Katie  come  in.  She'll  get  such  a  good  look  down 
the  room  at  the  dancers."  There  was  no  abated  admira- 
tion in  the  young  man's  eye,  as  he  turned  back  to  her 
side,  and  allowed  her  kindly  intention  to  be  fulfilled. 

Did  Katie  surmise,  in  her  turn,  with  the  freemasonry 
of  her  class,  how  it  was  with  her  humble  friend  over  the 
way, — that  she  couldn't  get  let  out  for  the  evening,  and 
that  she  would  be  sure  to  be  looking  and  listening  from 
her  old  post  opposite  ?  However  it  was,  the  linen  shade 
was  not  lowered  again,  and  there  between  the  lace  and 
crimson  curtains  stood  revealed  the  graceful  young 
figure  of  Edith  Pemberton,  in  her  floating  ball  robes, 
with  the  wreath  of  morning-glories  in  her  hair. 

"  Oh,  my  sakes  and  sorrows !     Ain't  she  just  like  a 


44  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

princess?  Ain't  it  a  splendid  time?  And  I  come  so 
near  to  be  in  it !  But  I  ain't ;  and  I  s'pose  I  shan't  ever 
get  a  chance  again.  Maybe  Katie'd  get  me  over  of  a 
common  work-day  though,  sometime,  to  help  her  a  bit 
or  so.  Wouldn't  I  be  glad  to  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  gracious,  child !  Don't  ever  come  here 
again.  You'll  catch  your  death.  You'll  have  the  croup 
and  whooping-cought,  and  everything  to-morrow." 
This  to  Herbert,  who  had  of  course  tumbled  out  of  bed 
again  at  Glory'a  first  rapturous  exclamation. 

"  No,  I  won't !  "  cried  the  boy,  rebelliously ;  "  I'll 
stay  as  long  as  I  like.  And  I'll  tell  my  ma  how  you  was 
a  wantin'  to  go  away  and  be  the  Pembertons'  girl. 
Won't  she  lamm  you  when  she  hears  that  ?  " 

"  You  can  tell  wicked  lies  if  you  want  to,  Master 
Herbert;  but  you  know  I  never  said  such  a  word,  nor 
ever  thought  of  it.  Of  course  I  couldn't  if  I  wanted  to 
ever  so  bad." 

"  Couldn't  live  there  ?  I  guess  not.  Think  they'd 
have  a  girl  like  you?  What  a  lookin*  you'd  be,  a- 
comin'  to  the  front  door  answerin'  the  bell !  " 

"  Kow,  Master  Herbert,"  implored  Glory,  magnan- 
imously ignoring  the  personal  taunt,  and  intent  only 
on  the  health  and  safety  of  the  malicious  little  scape- 
grace, who  I  believe  would  rather  have  caught  a  horrible 
cold  than  not,  if  only  Glory  might  bear  the  blame,  and 
he  be  kept  in  from  school  and  have  the  monopoly  of  her 
t  services  to  "  keep  him  pacified  " — "  do  just  go  back  to 
bed  with  you,  like  a  good  boy,  and  I'll  make  a  tent  over 
the  baby,  and  open  a  teenty  crack  of  the  windy.  The 
music's  beginnin'  again." 

Here  the  door  bell  rang  suddenly  and  sharply,  and 
Master  Herbert  fancying,  as  did  Glory,  that  it  was  his 
mother  come  back,  scrambled  into  his  bed  again  and 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  45 

covered  himself  up,  while  the  girl  ran  down  to  answer 
the  summons. 

It  was  Katie  Ryan,  with  cakes  and  sweetmeats  in  her 
hands. 

"  I've  jist  rin  in  to  fetch  ye  these.  Miss  Edith  gave 
Jein  me,  so  ye  needn't  be  feared.  I  knows  ye're  sich 
an  honest  one.  An'  it's  a  tearin'  shame,  if  ever  there 
was,  that  ye  couldn't  come  over  for  a  bit  of  diversion. 
Why  don't  ye  quit  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hush !  "  whispered  Glory,  with  a  gesture  up  the 
staircase,  where  she  had  just  left  the  little  pitcher  with 
fearfully  long  ears.  "  And  thank  you  kindly,  over 
and  over,  I'm  sure.  It's  real  good  o'  you  to  think  o*  me 
so — oh !  "  And  Glory  couldn't  say  anything  more  for  a 
quick  little  sob  that  came  in  her  throat,  and  caught 
the  last  word  up  into  a  spasm. 

"Pooh!  it's  just  nothing  at  all.  I'd  do  something 
better  nor  that  if  I  had  the  chance ;  an'  I'd  adwise  ye  to 
get  out  o'  this  if  ye  can.  Good-bye.  I've  set  the  parlor 
windy  open,  an'  the  shade's  up.  I  knew  it  would  jist 
be  a  conwenience." 

Katie  skipped  over  the  street,  that  was  scarcely  more 
than  a  gutter,  and  disappeared  through  the  green 
gate. 

Glory  ran  up  the  back  stairs  to  the  top  of  the  house, 
and  hid  away  the  sweet  things  in  her  own  room  to 
"make  a  party"  with  next  day.  And  then  she  went 
down  and  tented  over  the  crib  with  an  old  woolen 
shawl,  and  set  a  high-backed  rocking-chair  to  keep  the 
draft  from  Herbert,  and  opened  the  window  "  a  teenty 
crack,"  according  to  promise.  In  five  minutes  the 
slight  freshening  of  the  air  and  the  soothing  of  the  music 
had  sent  tJie  boy  to  sleep,  and  watchful  Glory  cloaeil  th» 


46  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

window  and  set  things  in  their  ordinary  arrangement 
once  more. 

Next  morning  Herbert  made  hoarse  complaint,  and 
was  kept  in  from  school. 

"  What  did  you  let  him  do,  Glory,  to  catch  such  a 
cold  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Grubbling,  who  assumed  for  granted, 
whatever  was  amiss,  that  Glory  must  have  done,  or  let 
be  done,  or  left  undone  something. 

"  Nothing,  mum,  only  he  would  get  out  of  bed  to 
hear  the  music,"  replied  the  girl. 

"  Well,  you  opened  the  window,  you  know  you  did, 
and  Katie  Ryan  came  over  and  kept  the  front  door 
open.  And  you  said  how  you  wished  you  could  go  over 
there  and  do  their  chores.  I  told  you  I'd  tell." 

"  It's  wicked  lies,  mum,"  burst  out  Glory,  indignant. 
"  I  never  said  no  such  thing." 

"  Do  you  dare  to  tell  him  he  lies,  right  before  my 
face,  you  good-for-nothing  girl  ?  "  shrieked  the  exasper- 
ated mother.  "  Where  do  you  expect  to  go  to  ?  " 

"  I  don't  expect  to  go  nowheres,  mum ;  and  I  wouldn't 
say  it  was  lies  if  he  didn't  tell  what  wasn't  true." 

"  How  should  such  a  thing  come  into  his  head  if 
you  didn't  say  it  ?  Who  do  you  suppose  I'd  believe 
first?" 

"  There's  many  things  comes  into  his  head,"  answered 
Glory,  stoutly  and  simply,  "  and  I  think  you'd  ought er 
believe  me  first,  when  I  never  told  you  a  lie  in  my  life, 
and  you  did  ketch  Master  Herbert  fibbing,  jist  tho  other 
day,  but." 

Somehow,  Glory  had  grown  strangely  bold  in  her 
own  behalf  since  she  had  come  to  feel  there  was  a  bit  of 
sympathy  somewhere  for  her  in  the  world. 

"  I  know  now  where  he  learns  it,"  retorted  the  mis- 
tress, with  persistent  and  angry  injustice. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  47 

Glory's  face  blazed  up,  and  she  took  an  involuntary 
step  to  the  woman's  side  at  the  stinging  and  warrantless 
accusation. 

"  You  don't  mean  that,  mum,  and  you'd  oughter  take 
it  back,"  said  she,  excited  beyond  all  fear  and  habit  of 
submission. 

Mrs.  Grubbling  raised  her  hand,  passionately,  and 
struck  the  girl  upon  the  cheek. 

"  I  mean  that,  then,  for  your  impudence !  Don't 
answer  me  up  again !  " 

"  No,  mum,"  said  Glory,  in  a  low,  strange  tone ;  quite 
white  now,  except  where  the  vindictive  fingers  had  left 
their  crimson  streaks.  And  she  went  off  out  of  the 
room  without  another  word. 

Over  the  knife-board  she  revolved  her  wrongs,  and 
sharpened  at  length  the  keen  edge  of  desperate  resolu- 
tion. 

"  Please,  mum,"  said  she,  in  the  old  form  of  address, 
but  with  quite  a  new  manner,  that,  in  the  little  de- 
pendant of  less  than  fifteen,  startled  the  hard  mistress, 
as  she  recognized  it,  "  I  ain't  noways  bound  to  you,  am 
I?" 

She  propounded  her  question,  stopping  short  in  her 
return  toward  the  china-closet  through  the  sitting-room, 
and  confronting  the  enemy  with  both  hands  full  of 
knives  and  forks  that  bristled  out  before  her  like  a 
concentrated  charge  of  bayonets. 

"Bound?  What  do  you  mean?"  parried  Mrs. 
Grubbling,  dimly  foreshadowing  to  herself  what  it 
would  be  if  Glory  should  break  loose,  and  go. 

"  To  stay,  mum,  and  you  to  keep  me,  till  I'm  growed 
up,"  answered  Glory,  briefly. 

"  There's  no  binding  about  it,"  replied  the  mistress. 
"  Of  course  I  wouldn't  be  held  to  anything  of  that  sort. 


48  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

I  shan't  keep  you  any  longer  than  you  behave  your- 
self." 

"  Then,  if  you  please,  mum,  I  think  I'll  go,"  said 
Glory.  And  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  which 
she  wiped  first  with  the  back  of  one  hand,  and  then  with 
the  other, — the  bright  steel  blades  and  tines  flashing  up 
and  down  dangerously  about  her  head,  like  lightnings 
about  a  rain  cloud. 

"  Humph !  Where  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Grumbling,  sar- 
castically. 

"  I  don't  know,  yet,"  said  Glory,  the  sarcasm  drying 
her  tears,  as  she  moved  on  to  the  closet  and  deposited 
her  knives  and  forks  in  the  tray.  "  I  'spose  I  can  go  to 
a  office." 

"  And  where'll  you  get  your  meals  and  your  lodgings 
till  you  find  a  place  ?  "  The  cat  thought  she  had  her 
paw  on  the  mouse,  now,  and  could  play  with  her  as 
securely  and  cruelly  as  she  pleased. 

"  If  you  go  away  at  all,"  continued  Mrs.  Grubbling, 
with  what  she  deemed  a  finishing  stroke  of  policy, 
"you  go  straight  off.  I'll  have  n»  dancing  back  and 
forth  to  offices  from  here." 

"  Do  you  mean  right  off,  this  minute  ?  "  asked  Glory, 
aghast. 

"  Yes,  just  that.  Pack  up  and  go,  or  else  let  me  hear 
no  more  about  it." 

The  next  thing  in  Glory's  programme  of  duty  was 
to  lay  the  table  for  dinner.  But  she  went  out  of  the 
room,  and  slowly  off,  up  stairs. 

Pretty  soon  she  came  down  again,  with  her  eyes  very 
swelled  and  tearful,  and  her  shabby  shawl  and  bonnet 
on. 

"  I'm  going,  mum,"  said  she,  as  one  resolved  to  face 
calmly  whatever  might  befall.  "  I  didn't  mean  it  to  be 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  49 

sudden,  but  it  are.  And  I  wouldn't  never  a  gone,  if  I'd 
a  thought  anybody  cared  for  me  the  leastest  bit  that 
ever  was.  I  wouldn't  mind  bein'  worked  and  put  upon, 
and  not  havin'  any  good  times;  but  when  people  hates 
me,  and  goes  to  say  I  doesn't  tell  the  truth," — here  Glory 
broke  down,  and  the  tears  poured  over  her  stained  cheeks 
again,  and  she  essayed  once  more  instinctively  to  dry 
them,  which  reminded  her  that  her  hands  again  were 
full. 

"  It's  some  goodies — from  the  party,  mum," — she 
struggled  to  say  between  short  breaths  and  sobs,  "  that 
Katie  Ryan  give  me, — an'  I  kept — to  make  a  party — 
for  the  children,  with — to-day,  mum, — when  the  chores 
was  done, — and  I'll  leave  'em — for  'em, — if  you  please." 

Glory  laid  her  coals  of  fire  upon  the  table  as  she 
spokfc.  Master  Herbert  eyed  them,  as  one  utterly 
unconscious  of  a  scorch. 

"  I  'spose  I  might  come  back  and  get  my  bundle," 
said  Glory,  standing  still  in  the  hope  of  one  last  kindly 
or  relenting  word. 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  you  get  a  place,"  said  her  mistress, 
dryly,  affecting  to  treat  the  whole  affair  as  a  childish, 
though  unwonted  burst  of  petulance;  and  making  sure 
that  a  few  hours  would  see  Glory  back,  subdued,  dis- 
couraged, penitent,  and  ready  to  bear  the  double  task 
of  to-morrow  that  should  make  up  for  the  rebellion  and 
lost  time  of  to-day. 

But  Glory,  not  daring,  unbidden,  even  to  kiss  the 
baby,  went  steadily  and  sorrowfully  out  into  the  street, 
and  drew  the  door  behind  her,  that  shut  with  a  catch- 
lock,  and  fastened  her  out  into  the  wide  world. 

Not  stopping  to  think,  she  hurried  on,  up  Budd  and 
down  Branch   Street,   and   across  the  green  common- 
path  to  the  apple-stand  and  Bridget  Foye. 
4 


50  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  I've  'done  it !  I've  gone !  And  I  don't  know  what 
to  do,  nor  where  to  go  to !  " 

"  Arrah,  poor  little  rid  hin !  So,  ye've  found  yer 
schissors,  have  ye,  an'  let  yersel'  loose  out  o'  the  bag? 
Well,  it's  I  that  is  glad,  though  I  wouldn't  pit  ye  up 
till  it,"  says  Bridget  Foye,  washing  her  hands  in  inno- 
cency. 

Poor  little  red  hen.  She  had  cut  a  hole,  and  jumped 
out  of  the  bag,  to  be  sure ;  but  here  she  was,  "  all  alone 
by  herself "  once  more,  and  the  foxes — Want  and 
Cruelty — ravening  after  her  all  through  tfae  great, 
dreary  wood ! 

This  day,  at  least,  passed  comfortably  enough,  how- 
ever, although  with  an  undertone  of  sadness, — in  the 
sunshine,  by  Bridget's  apple-stand,  watching  the  gay 
passers-by,  and  shaping  some  humble  hopes  and  plans 
for  the  future.  For  dinner,  she  shared  Mrs.  Foye's 
plain  bread  and  cheese,  and  made  a  dessert  of  ah  apple 
and  a  handful  of  peanuts.  At  night  Bridget  took  her 
home  and  gave  her  shelter,  and  the  next  day  she  started 
her  off  with  a  "  God-bless-ye  and  good-luck-till-ye,"  in 
the  charge  of  an  older  girl  who  lodged  in  the  same  build- 
ing^ and  who  was  also  "  out  after  a  place." 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


AUNT  HENDERSON  S  GIRL-HUHT. 

"  Black  spirits  and  white, 
Red  spirits  and  gray ; 
Mingle,  mingle,  mingle, 
You  that  mingle  may." 

MACBETH. 

IT  was  a  small,  close,  dark  room, — Mrs.  Griggs's 
Intelligence  Office, — a  little  counter  tand  show-case 
dividing  off  its  farther  end,  making  a  sanctum  for  Mrs. 
Griggs,  who  combined  a  little  of  the  tape-and-button 
business  with  her  more  lucrative  occupation,  and  who 
sat  here  in  immovable  and  rheumatic  ponderosity,  de- 
pendent for  whatever  involved  locomotion  on  the  rather 
alarming  alacrity  of  an  impish-looking  grand-daughter 
who,  just  at  the  moment  whereof  I  write,  is  tearing  in 
at  the  street  door,  and  elbowing  her  way  through  the 
throng  of  applicants  for  places  and  servants,  quite  re- 
gardless of  the  expression  of  horror  and  astonishment 
shs  has  called  forth  on  the  face  of  a  severe-looking, 
elderly  lady,  who,  by  her  impetuous  onset,  has  been 
rudely  thrust  back  into  the  very  arms  of  a  fat,  unsavory 
cook  with  whom  she  had  a  minute  before  been  quite  un- 
willingly set  to  confer  by  the  high-priestess  of  the  place, 
and  who  had  almost  equally  relieved  and  exasperated 
her,  by  remarking,  as  she  glanced  over  her  respectable 
but  somewhat  unstylish  figure  and  dress,  that  she 


52  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"guessed  it  wouldn't  be  worth  while  to  talk  about  it, 
for  she  had  never  lived  with  any  but  fust-class  ladies, 
and  her  wages  was  three-and-a-half." 

Aunt  Henderson  grasped  Faith's  hand  as  if  she  felt 
she  had  brought  her  into  a  danger,  and  held  her  close 
to  her  side  while  she  paused  a  moment  to  observe,  with 
the  strange  fascination  of  repulsion,  the  manifestation 
of  a  phase  of  human  life  and  the  working  of  a  voca- 
tion so  utterly  arid  astoundingly  novel  to  herself. 

"  Well,  Melindy,"  said  Mrs.  Griggs,  salutatorily. 

"  Well,  grandma,"  answered  the  girl,  with  a  pert 
air  of  show-off  and  consequence,  "  I  found  the  place, 
and  I  found  the  lady.  Ain't  I  been  quick  ?  " 

"  Yes.     What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Said  the  girl  left  last  Saturday.  Ain't  had  any- 
body sence.  Wants  you  to  send  her  a  first-rate  one, 
right  off,  straight.  Has  Care'Zme  been  here  after 
me?" 

"  No.     Did  you  get  the  money  ?  " 

"  She  never  said  a  word  about  it.  Guess  she  forgot 
the  month  was  out." 

"  Didn't  you  ask  her  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  No.  I  did  the  arrant,  and  stood  and  looked 
at  her, — jest  as  pious — !  And  when  she  didn't  say 
nothin'.  I  come  away." 

"  Winny  M'Goverin,"  said  Mrs.  Griggs,  "  that 
place'll  suit  you.  Leastways,  it  must,  for  another 
month.  You'd  better  go  right  round  there." 

"  Where  is  it  ? "  asked  the  fat  cook,  indifferently, 
over  Miss  Henderson's  shoulder. 

"  Up  in  Mount  Pleasant  Street,  Number  53.  First- 
class  place,  and  plenty  of  privileges.  Margaret 
McKay,"  she  continued,  to  another,  who  stood  with  a 
•waiting  expression  beside  the  counter,  "you're  too 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  53 

hard  to  please.  Here's  one  more  place,"- — handing  her 
a  card  with  address, — "  and  if  you  don't  take  that,  I 
won't  do  nothing  more  for  you,  if  you  air  Scotch  and  a 
Protestant !  Mary  McGinnis,  it's  no  use  your  talking 
to  that  lady  from  the  country.  She  can't  spare  you  to 
come  down  but  twice  or  so  a  year." 

"  Lord !  "  ejaculated  Mary  McGinnis,  "  I  wouldn't 
live  a  whole  year  with  no  lady  that  ever  was,  let  alone 
the  country !  " 

"  Come  out,  Faith !  "  said  Miss  Henderson,  in  a 
deep,  ineffable  tone  of  disgust,  drawing  her  niece  to  the 
door,  just  in  time  to  escape  a  second  charge  of  Miss 
Melindy's,  who  was  dashing  in  that  direction  again,  to 
"  look  down  street  after  Care'fo'ne." 

"  If  that's  a  genteel  West  End  Intelligence  Office," 
cried  Aunt  Faith,  as  she  touched  the  sidewalk,  "  let's  go 
down  town  and  try  some  of  the  common  ones." 

A  large  hall, — where  the  candidates  were  ranged  on 
settees  under  order  and  restraint,  and  the  superintend- 
ent, or  directress,  occupied  a  desk  placed  upon  a  plat- 
form near  the  entrance, — was  the  next  scene  whereon 
Miss  Henderson  and  Faith  Gartney  entered.  Things 
looked  clean  and  respectable.  System  obtained  here. 
Aunt  Faith  felt  encouraged.  But  she  made  no  haste  to 
utter  her  business.  Tall,  self-possessed,  and  dignified, 
she  stood  a  few  paces  inside  the  door,  and  looked  down 
the  apartment,  surveying  coolly  the  faces  there,  and 
analyzing,  by  a  shrewd  mental  process,  their  indications. 

Her  niece  had  stopped  a  moment  on  the  landing 
outside  to  fasten  her  boot-lace. 

Miss  Henderson  did  not  wear  hoops.  Also,  the 
streets  being  sloppy,  she  had  tucked  up  her  plain,  gray 
merino  dress  over  a  quilted  black  alpaca  petticoat.  Her 
boots  were  splashed,  and  her  black  silk  bonnet  was 


54  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

covered  with  a  large  gray  barege  veil,  tied  d<yvn  over 
it  to  protect  it  from  the  dripping  roofs.  Judging 
merely  by  exterior,  one  unskilled  in  countenance  would 
hardly  take  her  at  a  glance,  indeed,  for  a  "  fust-class  " 
lady. 

The  directress — a  busy  woman,  with  only  half  a 
glance  to  spare  for  any  one — moved  toward  her. 

"  Take  a  seat,  if  you  please.  What  kind  of  a  place 
do  you  want  ?  " 

Aunt  Faith  turned  full  face  upon  her,  with  a  look 
that  was  prepared  to  be  overwhelming,  if  it  met  im- 
pertinence. 

"  I'm  looking  for  a  place,  ma'm,  where  I  can  find  a 
respectable  girl." 

Her  firm,  emphatic  utterance  was  heard  to  the 
farthest  end  of  the  hall. 

The  girls  tittered. 

Aunt  Faith  sent  her  keen  eyes  quickly  over  the 
benches. 

Faith  Gartney  came  in  at  this  moment,  and  walked 
up  quietly  to  Miss  Henderson's  side.  There  was  visibly 
a  new  impression  made,  and  the  tittering  ceased.  Es- 
pecially as  the  directress  also  enforced  order  with  a  look 
and  word  of  authority. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am.  I  see.  But  we  have  so 
many  in,  and  I  didn't  fairly  look.  General  house- 
work?" 

"  Yes ;  general  and  particular — both.  Whatever  I 
set  her  to  do." 

The  directress  turned  toward  the  throng  of  faces 
whose  fire  of  eyes  was  now  all  concentrated  on  the  un- 
flinching countenance  of  Miss  Henderson. 

"  Ellen  Mahoney!" 

A  stout,  well-looking  damsel,  with  an  expression  that 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  55 

seemed  *to  say  she  answered  to  her  name,  but  was  never- 
theless persuaded  of  the  utter  uselessness  of  the  move- 
ment, half  rose  from  her  seat. 

"  You  needn't  call  up  that  girl,"  said  Aunt  Faith, 
decidedly ;  "  I  don't  want  her." 

Ellen  Mahoney  had  giggled  among  the  loudest. 

"  She  knows  what  she  does,  want !  "  whispered  a  de 
cent-appearing  young  woman  to  a  girl  at  her  side  with 
an  eager  face  looking  out  from  a  friz  of  short  curly 
hair,  "  and  that's  more  than  half  of  'em  do.  She's  a 
real  sensible  woman,  and  the  young  one's  just  a  picture 
to  look  at.  I'd  try  for  it  myself,  only  I'm  half  engaged 
to  the  one  that  had  me  up  a  minute  ago." 

"  Country,  did  you  say,  ma'am  ?  or  city  ?  "  asked  the 
directress  once  more  of  Miss  Henderson. 

"  I  didn't  say.  It's  country,  though, — twenty  miles 
out." 

"  What  wages  ?  " 

"  I'll  find  the  girl  first,  and  settle  that  afterwards." 

"  Anybody  to  do  general  housework  in  the  country, 
twenty  miles  out  ?  " 

The  prevailing  expression  of  the  assemblage  changed. 
There  was  a  settling  down  into  seats,  a  withdrawing  of 
earnest  and  curious  glances,  and  a  resumption  of  knit- 
ting and  needlework. 

One  pair  of  eyes,  however,  looked  on,  even  more 
eagerly  than  before.  One  young  girl, — she  with  the 
short  curly  hair, — who  had  been  gazing  at  the  pretty 
face  of  Faith  since  she  came  in  as  if  it  had  been  a 
vision,  and  who  hadn't  seen  the  country,  and  had  hardly 
heard  it  named,  for  six  years  and  more  last  gone  of  her 
young  life,  and  could  with  difficulty  conceive  that  there 
should  be  any  straight  or  easily  traversed  path  out  of 
these  interminable  city  walls  into  the  breadth  and 


56  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

beauty,  that  came  to  her  as  a  far-off  recollection  in  her 
dreams  of  delight, — caught  her  breath,  convulsively,  at 
the  word. 

"  I  wish  I  dar'st !  I've  a  great  mind !  "  whispered 
she  to  her  tidy  companion. 

While  she  hesitated,  a  slatternly  young  woman,  a 
few  seats  further  forward,  moved,  with  a  "  don't  care  " 
sort  of  look,  to  answer  the  summons. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  sighed  the  first,  quite  sure  of  her  own 
wish  now  that  she  perceived  herself  anticipated.  "  I'd 
ought  to  a  done  it !  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  would  take  a  young  girl  like 
you,"  replied  her  friend. 

"  That's  the  way  it  always  is !  "  exclaimed  the  dis- 
appointed voice,  in  forgetfulness  and  excitement  utter- 
ing itself  aloud.  "  Plenty  of  good  times  going,  but 
they  all  go  right  by.  I  ain't  never  in  any  of  'em !  " 

"  Glory  McWhirk !  "  chided  the  directress  from  her 
desk,  "  be  quiet !  Remember  the  rules,  or  leave  the 
room." 

u  Call  that  red-headed  girl  to  me,"  said  Miss  Hender- 
son, turning  square  round  from  the  dirty  figure  that  was 
presenting  itself  before  her,  and  addressing  the  desk. 
"  She  looks  clean  and  bright,"  she  added,  aside,  to 
Faith,  as  Glory  timidly  yet  hastily  answered  a  signal 
and  approached.  "  And  poor.  And  longing  for  a 
chance.  I'll  have  her." 

A  girl  with  a  bonnet  full  of  braids  and  roses,  and  a 
look  of  general  knowingness,  started  up  close  at  Miss 
Henderson's  side,  and  interposed,  while  Glory  was  yet 
on  her  way. 

"  Did  you  say  twenty  miles,  mum  ?  How  often 
could  I  come  to  town  ?  " 

"  You  haven't  been  asked  to  go  out  of  town,  that  I 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  57 

know  of,"  replied  Miss  Henderson,  frigidly,  abashing 
the  office-habitue,  who  had  not  been  used  to  find  her 
catechism  cut  so  summarily  short,  and  moving  aside  to 
speak  with  Glory. 

"  What  was  it  I  heard  you  say  just  now  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  speak  out  so,  mum.  It  was  only 
what  I  mostly  thinks.  That  there's  always  lots  of 
good  times  in  the  world,  only  I  ain't  never  in  'em." 

"  And  you  thought  it  would  be  good  times,  did  you,  to 
go  off  twenty  miles  into  the  country,  to  live  alone  with 
an  old  woman  like  me  ?  " 

Miss  Henderson's  tone  softened  kindly  to  the  rough, 
uncouth  girl,  and  encouraged  her  to  confidence. 

"  Well,  you  see,  mum,  I  should  like  to  go  where 
things  is  green  and  pleasant.  I  lived  in  the  country 
once, — ever  so  long  ago, — when  I  was  a  little  girl." 

Miss  Henderson  could  not  help  a  smile  that  was  half 
amused,  and  wholly  pitiful,  as  she  looked  in  the  face 
of  this  creature  of  fourteen,  so  strange  and  earnest,  with 
its  outline  of  fuzzy,  cropped  hair,  and  heard  her  talk 
of  "  ever  so  long  ago." 

"  There's  only  just  the  Common  here,  you  know, 
mum.  And  that's  when  all  the  chores  is  done.  And 
you  can't  go  on  the  grass,  either." 

"  Are  you  strong  ?  " 

"  Yes'm.     I  ain't  never  sick." 

"  And  willing  to  work  ?  " 

"  Yes'm.     Jest  as  much  as  I  know  how.*' 

"  And  want  to  learn  more  ?  " 

"  Yes'm.  I  don't  know  as  I'd  know  enough  hardly, 
to  begin,  though." 

"  Can  you  wash  dishes  ?  And  sweep  ?  And  set 
table?" 

To  each  of  these  queries  Glory  successively  interposed 


58  FAITH   GAKTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

an  affirmative  monosyllable,  adding,  gratuitously,  at 
the  close,  "  And  tend  baby,  too,  real  good."  Her  eyes 
filled,  as  she  thought  of  the  Grubbling  baby  with  the 
love  that  always  grows  for  that  "whereto  o*ne  has 
sacrificed  one's  self. 

"  You  won't  have  any  babies  to  tend.     Time  enough 
for  that  when  you've  learnt  plenty  of  other  things.  < 
Who  do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

"  I  don't  belong  to  anybody,  mum.  Father,  and 
mother,  and  grandmother  is  all  dead.  I've  done  the 
chores  and  tended  baby  up  at  Mrs.  Grubbling's  ever 
since.  That's  in  Budd  Street.  I'm  staying  now  in 
High  Street,  with  Mrs.  Foye.  Number  fifteen." 

"  I'll  come  after  you  to-morrow.  Have  your  things 
ready  to  go  right  off." 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  took  her,  auntie,"  said  Faith,  as 
they  went  out.  "  She  looks  as  if  she  hadn't  been  well 
treated.  Think  of  her  wanting  so  to  go  into  the 
country!  I  should  like  to  do  something  for  her,  my- 
self." ' 

"  That's  my  business,"  answered  Aunt  Faith,  curtly, 
but  not  crossly.  "  You'll  find  somebody  to  do  for,  if 
you  look  out.  If  your  mother's  willing,  though,  you 
might  mend  up  one  of  your  old  school  dresses  for  her. 
'Tisn't  likely  she's  got  anything  to  begin  with."  And 
BO  saying,  Aunt  Faith  turned  precipitately  into  a  dry- 
goods  store,  where  she  bought  a  large  plaid  woolen 
shawl,  and  twelve  yards  of  dark  calico.  Coming  out, 
she  darted  as  suddenly,  and  apparently  unpremedi- 
tatedly,  across  the  street  into  a  milliner's  shop,  and 
ordered  home  a  brown  rough-and-ready  straw  bonnet, 
and  four  yards  of  ribbon  to  match. 

"  And  that  you  can  put  on,  too,"  she  said  to  Faith. 

That  evening,  Faith  was  even  unwontedly  cheery  and 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  59 

busy,  taking  a  burned  half-breadth  out  of  a  dark 
cashmere  dress,  darning  it  at  the  armhole,  and  pinning 
the  plain  ribbon  over  the  brown  straw  bonnet. 

At  the  same  time,  Glory,  all  unconscious  of  the 
great  things  preparing  for  her,  went  up  across  the  city 
to  Budd  Street,  with  a  mingled  heaviness  and  gladness 
at  her  heart,  and,  after  a  kindly  farewell  interview 
with  good-natured  Katie  Ryan  at  the  Pembertons' 
green  gate,  rang,  with  a  half  guilty  feeling  at  her  own 
independence,  at  the  Grubblings'  door.  "  Bubby " 
opened  it. 

"  Why,  ma !  "  he  shouted  up  the  staircase,  "  it's 
Glory  come  back !  " 

"  I've  come  to  get  my  bundle,"  said  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Grubbling  had  advanced  to  the  stair-head,  some- 
what briskly,  with  the  wakeful  baby  in  her  arms.  Two 
days'  "  tending  "  had  greatly  mollified  her  sentiments 
toward  the  offending  Glory. 

"  And  she's  come  to  get  her  bundle,"  added  the  young 
usher,  from  below. 

Mrs.  Grubbling  retreated  into  her  chamber,  and  shut 
herself  and  the  baby  in. 

Poor  Glory  crept  up  stairs  to  her  little  attic,  like  a 
house-breaker. 

Coming  down  again,  she  set  her  bundle  on  the  stairs, 
and  knocked. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  was  the  ungracious  response! 

"  Please,  mum,  mightn't  I  say  good-bye  to  the 
baby  ? " 

The  latch  had  slipped,  and  the  door  was  already 
slightly  ajar.  Baby  heard  the  accustomed  voice,  and 
struggled  in  his  mother's  arms. 

"  A  pretty  time  to  come  disturbing  him  to  do  it !  " 
grumbled  she.  Nevertheless,  she  set  the  baby  on  the 


60  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

floor,  who  tottled  out,  and  was  seized  by  Glory,  standing 
there  in  the  dark  entry,  and  pressed  close  in  her  poor, 
long-wearied,  faithful  arms. 

"  Oh,  baby,  baby !     I'm  in  it  now !     And  I  don't 
know  rightly  whether  it's  a  good  time  or  not !  " 


CEIAPTER  VIL 
CASES;  AITD  WHAT  CAME  OF  THEM. 

f- To  speed  to-day,  to  be  put  back  to-morrow ; 
To  feed  on  hope,  to  pine  with  feare  and  sorrow ; 

To  fret  thy  soul  with  crosses  and  with  cares ; 

To  eate  thy  heart  through  coinfortles.se  dispaires." 

SPENCKB. 

Two  years  and  more  had  passed  since  the  New  Year's 
dance  at  the  Rushleighs'. 

The  crisis  of  '57  and  '58  was  approaching  its  cul- 
mination. The  great  earthquake  that  for  months  had 
been  making  itself  heard  afar  off  by  its  portentous 
rumbling  was  heaving  to  the  final  crash.  Already  the 
weaker  houses  had  fallen  and  were  forgotten.  The 
statelier  edifices  were  tottering  and  crumbling  on  every 
side.  Men  saw  great  cracks  and  fissures  opening  at 
their  feet,  and  hardly  dared  move  to  the  right  hand  or 
to  the  left.  All  through  the  great  city,  when  the  pave- 
ments were  still  at  night,  and  the  watchmen  paced  their 
quiet  rounds,  who  might  count  the  chambers  where  lay 
sleepless  heads,  revolving  feverishly  the  ways  and  means 
for  the  morrow  ?  Ah !  God  only  knows  the  life  that 


FAITH  GARTNEY»S  GIRLHOOD.  gj 

wakes  and  struggles  when  the  outer,  daily,  noisy  life  of 
a  great  metropolis  is  laid  asleep ! 

When  a  great  financial  trouble  sweeps  down  upon  a 
people,  there  are  three  general  classes  who  receive  and 
feel  it,  each  in  its  own  peculiar  way. 

There  are  the  great  capitalists, — the  enormouslv 
rich, — who,  unless  a  tremenduous  combination  of  ad 
versities  shall  utterly  ruin  here  and  there  one,  grow  the 
richer  yet  for  the  calamities  of  their  neighbors.  There 
are  also  the  very  poor,  who  have  nothing  to  lose  but  their 
daily  labor  and  their  daily  bread, — who  may  suffer  and 
starve ;  but  who,  if  by  any  little  saving  of  a  better  time 
they  can  manage  just  to  buy  bread,  shall  be  precisely 
where  they  were,  practically,  when  the  storm  shall  have 
blown  over.  Between  these  lies  the  great  middle  class, 
— among  whom,  as  on  the  middle  ground,  the  world's 
great  battle  is  continually  waging, — of  persons  who  are 
neither  rich  nor  poor;  who  have  neither  secured  for- 
tunes to  fall  back  upon,  nor  yet  the  independence  of 
their  hands  to  turn  to,  when  business  and  its  income  fail. 
This  is  the  class  that  suffers  most.  Most  keenly  in 
apprehension,  in  mortification,  in  after  privation. 

Of  this  class  was  the  Gartney  family. 

Mr.  Gartney  was  growing  pale  and  thin.  No 
•wonder;  with  sleepless  nights,  and  harassed  days,  and 
forgotten,  or  unrelished  meals.  His  wife  watched  him 
and  waited  for  him,  and  contrived  special  comforts  for 
him,  and  listened  to  his  confidences,  and  turned  in  her 
brain  numberless  plans  and  possibilities  within  her 
limited  sphere  of  action. 

This  is  what  women  do  when  the  world  "  on  'change  " 
is  seething,  and  tossing,  and  agonizing  in  the  clutch  of 
a  great  commercial  crisis. 

Faith  felt  that  there  was  a  cloud  upon  the  house,  and 


(J2  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

knew  that  it  had  to  do  with  money.  So  she  hid  her 
own  little  wants  as  long  as  she  could,  wore  her  old 
ribbons,  mended  last  year's  discarded  gloves,  and 
yearned  vaguely  and  helplessly  to  do  something, — some 
great  thing  if  she  only  could,  that  might  remedy  or  help. 

Once,  she  thought  she  would  learn  Stenography.  She 
had  heard  somebody  speak  one  day  of  the  great  pay  a 
lady  short-hand-writer  had  received  at  Washington,  for 
some  Congressional  reports.  Why  shouldn't  she  learn 
how  to  do  it,  and  perhaps,  some  time  or  other,  if  the 
terrible  worst  should  ever  come  to  the  worst,  make 
known  her  secret  resource,  and  earn  enough  for  all  the 
family  ? 

Something  like  this, — some  "  high  and  holy  work  of 
love," — she  longed  to  do.  Longed  almost, — if  she  were 
once  prepared  and  certain  of  herself, — for  even  mis- 
fortune that  should  justify  and  make  practicable  her 
generous  purpose. 

She  got  an  elementary  book,  and  set  to  work,  by  her- 
self. She  toiled  wearily,  every  day,  at  such  times  as 
she  could  command,  for  nearly  a  month ;  despairing  at 
every  step,  yet  persevering ;  for,  beside  the  grand  dream 
for  the  future,  there  was  a  present  fascination  in  the 
queer  little  scrawls  and  dots,  the  mystic  keys  to  such 
voluminous  meaning,  that  held  her  interested,  of  it- 
self. 

Well,  and  how  did  it  all  end  ? 

She   didn't   master   the    short-hand   art,    of   course.' 
Everybody  knows  that  is  a  work  for  patient  years.     It 
cannot  be  known  how  long  she  might  have  gone  on  with 
the  attempt,  if  her  mother  had  not  come  to  her  one  day 
with  some  parcels  of  cut-out  cotton  cloth. 

"  Faithie,  dear,"  said  she,  deprecatingly,  "  I  don't 
like-  to  put  such  work  upon  you  while  you  go  to  school; 


FAITH    GARTNKY'S    GIRLHOOD.  (53 

but  you  have  a  good  deal  of  leisure  time,  after  all ;  and 
I  ought  not  to  afford  to  have  Miss  McElroy  this  spring. 
Can't  you  make  up  some  of  these  with  me  before  the 
summer  ?  " 

There  were  articles  of  clothing  for  Faith,  herself. 
She  felt  the  present  duty  upon  her ;  and  how  could  she 
rebel  ?  Yet  what  was  to  become  of  the  great  scheme  and 
the  heroic  future  ?  She  couldn't  help  thinking — if  her 
mother  had  only  known  how  this  leisure  of  hers  was 
really  being  used,  would  she  have  brought  her  all  this 
cotton  to  stitch  ? 

What  then?  Could  she  never  do  anything  better 
than  this  ?  Meantime,  the  stitching  must  be  done. 

By-and-by  would  come  vacation,  and  in  the  following 
spring,  at  furthest,  she  would  leave  school,  and  then — 
she  would  see.  She  would  write  a  book,  may  be.  Why 
not?  And  secretly  dispose  of  it,  for  a  large  sum,  to 
some  self -regardless  publisher.  Should  there  never 
be  another  Fanny  Burney  ?  !Not  a  novel,  though,  or 
any  grown-up  book,  at  first;  but  a  juvenile,  at  least, 
she  could  surely  venture  on.  Look  at  all  the  Cousin 
Maries,  and  Aunt  Fannies,  and  Sister  Alices,  whose 
productions  piled  the  booksellers'  counters  during  the 
holiday  sales,  and  found  their  way,  sooner  or  later, 
into  all  the  nurseries,  and  children's  bookcases!  And 
think  of  all  the  stories  she  had  invented  to  amuse 
Hendie  with !  Better  than  some  of  these  printed  ones, 
she  was  quite  sure,  if  only  she  could  set  them  down  just 
as  she  had  spoken  them  under  the  inspiration  of  Hen- 
die's  eager  eyes  and  ready  glee. 

She  made  two  or  three  beginnings,  during  the  summer 
holidays,  but  always  came  to  some  sort  of  a  "  sticking- 
place,"  which  couldn't  be  hobbled  over  in  print  as  in 
verbal  relation.  All  the  links  must  be  apparent,  and 


04  FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

everything  be  made  to  hold  well  together.  She  wouldn't 
have  known  what  they  were,  if  you  had  asked  her, — 
but  the  "  unities  "  troubled  her.  And  then  the  labor 
loomed  up  so  large  before  her !  She  counted  the  lines 
in  a  page  of  a  book  of  the  ordinary  juvenile  size,  and 
the  number  of  letters  in  a  line,  and  found  out  the 
wonderful  compression  of  which  manuscript  is  capable. 
And  there  must  be  two  hundred  pages,  at  least,  to  make  a 
book  of  tolerable  size. 

She  remembered  how  her  elder  brother,  now  away 
off  in  San  Francisco,  had  told  her  once,  when  she  was 
a  very  little  girl,  that  he  was  going  to  make  her  a  baby- 
house.  Such  a  wonderful  baby-house  as  it  was  to  be! 
It  should  have  three  stories,  and  the  proper  number  of 
furnished  rooms  in  each,  and  doll  inhabitants,  likewise, 
of  marvellous  wiry  mechanism,  that  should  move  and 
walk  about.  (Long  before  the  Peripatetikos,  or  what- 
ever they  call  the  wind-up  walking  dolls,  were 
thought  of  by  any  older  brain,  mind  you ! )  And  how 
all  he  ever  did  about  it,  when  urged  to  execution,  was 
to  take  his  little  hatchet  out  into  the  wood-shed  and  chop 
away  upon  a  shapeless  log !  Always  making  a  visionary 
beginning, — always  unfolding  fascinating  plans, — be- 
lieving in  them  devoutly,  and  never  getting  really  and 
fairly  into  the  work!  Ah,  how  we  all  build,  and  build, 
and  make  such  feeble  actual  strokes  toward  comple- 
tion! 

So  Faithie's  brain-puppets  waited  in  limbo,  and 
could  not  by  any  sorcery  of  hers  be  evoked  from  shade 
into  life  and  action. 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  in  the  world  that  she 
could  do.  She  could  not  give  her  time  to  charity,  and 
go  about  among  the  poor.  She  had  nothing  to  help 
them.  with.  Her  father  gave,  already,  to  ceaseless 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  65 

applications,  more  than  he  could  positively  spare.  So 
every  now  and  then  she  relinquished  in  discourage- 
ment her  aspirations,  and  fell  into  the  ordinary  channel 
again,  and  lived  on,  from  day  to  day,  as  other  girls 
did,  getting  what  pleasure  she  could;  hampered  con- 
tinually, however,  with  the  old,  inevitable  tether,  of 
"  can't  afford." 

"  If  something  only  would  happen !  "  If  some  new 
circumstance  would  creep  into  her  life,  and  open  the 
way  for  a  more  real  living ! 

Do  you  think  girls  of  seventeen  don't  have  thoughts 
and  longings  like  these  ?  I  tell  you  they  do ;  and  it 
isn't  that  they  want  to  have  anybody  else  meet  with 
misfortune,  or  die,  that  romantic  combinations  may 
thereby  result  to  them;  or  that  they  are  in  haste  to 
enact  the  every-day  romance, — to  secure  a  lover, — get 
married, — and  set  up  a  life  of  their  own ;  it  is  that  the 
ordinary  marked-out  bound  of  civilized  young-lady  ex- 
istence is  so  utterly  inadequate  to  the  fresh,  vigorous, 
expanding  nature,  with  its  noble  hopes,  and  its  op- 
prehension  of  limitless  possibilities. 

Something  did  happen. 

Winter  came  on  again.  After  a  twelvemonth  of 
struggle  and  pain  such  as  none  but  a  harassed  man  of 
business  can  ever  know  or  imagine,  Mr.  Gartney  found 
himself  "  out  of  the  wood,"  and  safe,  as  it  were,  in 
open  country  once  more;  but  stripped,  and  torn,  and 
bruised,  and  weary,  and  seeing  no  path  before  him  over 
the  wide,  waste  moor. 

He  had  survived  the  shock, — his  last  note  was  taken 
up,— rhe  had  labored  through, — and  that  was  all.  He 
was  like  a  man  from  off  a  wreck,  who  has  brought  away 
nothing  but  his  life. 

He  came  home  one  morning  from.  New  York,  whither 
5 


66  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

he  had  been  to  attend  a  meeting  of  creditors  of  a  failed 
firm,  and  went  straight  to  his  chamber  with  a  raging 
headache. 

The  next  day,  the  physician's  chaise  was  at  the 
door,  and  on  the  landing,  where  Mrs.  Gartney  stood, 
jpale  and  anxious,  gazing  into  his  face  for  a  word,  after 
the  visit  to  the  sick  room  was  over,  Dr.  Gracie  drew  on 
his  gloves,  and  said  to  her,  with  one  foot  on  the  stair, — 
"  Symptoms  of  typhoid.  Keep  him  absolutely  quiet." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  NICHE  IN  LIFE,  AND  A  WOMAN  TO  FILL  IT. 

"  A  Traveller  between  Life  and  Death." 

WORDSWORTH. 

Miss  SAMPSON  was  at  home  this  evening.  It  was 
not  what  one  would  have  pictured  to  one's  self  as  a  scene 
of  home  comfort  or  enjoyment ;  but  Miss  Sampson  was 
at  home.  In  her  little  room  of  fourteen  feet  square, 
up  a  dismal  flight  of  stairs,  sitting,  in  the  light  of  a 
single  lamp,  by  her  air-tight  stove,  whereon  a  cup  of 
tea  wae  keeping  warm;  that,  and  the  open  newspaper 
on  the  little  table  in  the  corner,  being  the  only  things 
in  any  way  cheery  about  her. 

!N"ot  even  a  cat  or  a  canary-bird  had  she  for  com* 
panionship.  There  was  no  cozy  arrangement  for  daily 
feminine  employment ;  no  work-basket,  or  litter  of  spools 
and  tapes ;  nothing  to  indicate  what  might  be  her  daily 
way  of  going  on.  On  the  broad  ledges  of  the  windows, 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  §7 

where  any  other  woman  would  have  had  a  plant  or  two, 
there  was  no  array  of  geraniums  or  verbenas — not  even 
a  seedling  orange-tree  or  a  monthly-rose.  But  in  one 
of  them  lay  a  plaid  shawl  and  a  carpet-bag,  and  in  the 
other  that  peculiar  and  nearly  obsolete  piece  of  feminine 
property,  a  paper  bandbox,  tied  about  with  tape. 

— Packed  up  for  a  journey  ? 

Reader,  Miss  Sampson  was  always  packed  up.  She 
was  that  much-enduring,  all-foregoing  creature,  a  pro- 
fessional nurse. 

There  would  have  been  no  one  to  feed  a  cat,  or  a 
canary-bird,  or  to  water  a  rose-bush,  if  she  had  had  one. 
Her  home  was  no  more  to  her  than  than  his  station  at 
the  corner  of  the  street  is  to  the  handcart-man  or  the 
hackney-coachman.  It  was  only  the  place  where  she 
might  receive  orders ;  whence  she  might  go  forth  to  the 
toilsomeness  and  gloom  of  one  sick-room  after  another, 
returning  between  each  sally  and  the  next  to  her  cheer- 
less post  of  waiting, — keeping  her  strength  for  others, 
and  living  no  life  of  her  own.  She  dwelt,  as  it  were, 
in  the  dim  and  desolate  border-land  that  lies  between 
the  stirring  world  and  the  unconscious  grave ;  now  going 
down  into  the  verge  of  the  infinite  gloom  with  one  who 
must  pass  beyond  it,  and  now  upholding  and  helping  one 
who  struggles  back  to  the  light  of  earth ;  but  never  tarry- 
ing long  herself  among  the  living  and  the  strong. 

There  was  nothing  in  Miss  Sampson's  outer  woman 
that  would  give  you,  at  first  glance,  an  idea  of  her  real 
energy  and  peculiar  force  of  character.  She  was  a  tall 
and  slender  figure,  with  no  superfluous  weight  of  flesh ; 
and  her  long,  thin  arms  seemed  to  have  grown  long  and 
wiry  with  lifting,  and  easing,  and  winding  about  the 
poor  wrecks  of  mortality  that  had  lost  their  own  vigor, 
and  were  fain  to  beg  a  portion  of  hers.  Her  face  was 


68  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

thin  and  rigid,  too, — moulded  to  no  mere  graces  of  ex- 
pression,— but  with  a  strong  outline,  and  a  habitual 
compression  about  the  mouth  that  told  you,  when  you 
had  once  learned  somewhat  of  its  meaning,  of  the  firm 
will  that  would  go  straight  forward  to  its  object,  and 
do,  without  parade  or  delay,  whatever  there  might  be 
to  be  done.  Decision,  determination,  judgment,  and 
readiness  were  all  in  that  habitual  look  of  a  face  on 
which  little  else  had  been  called  out  for  years.  But  you 
would  not  so  have  read  it  at  first  sight.  You  would  al- 
most inevitably  have  called  her  a  "  scrawny,  sour-look- 
ing old  maid." 

A  creaking,  deliberate,  weighty  step  was  heard  upon 
the  stair,  and  then  a  knock  of  decision  at  Miss  Samp- 
son's door. 

"Come  in!" 

And  as  she  spoke,  Miss  Sampson  took  her  cup  and 
saucer  in  her  hand.  That  was  to  be  kept  waiting  no 
longer  for  whatever  visitor  it  might  chance  to  be.  She 
was  composedly  taking  her  first  sip  as  Doctor  Gracier 
entered. 

"  Don't  move,  Miss  Sampson ;  don't  let  me  inter- 
rupt." 

"  I  don't  mean  to !  "  answered  the  nurse,  laconically 
"  What  sends  you  here  ?  " 

"  A  new  patient." 

"  Humph !  Not  one  of  the  last  sort,  I  hope.  You 
know  my  kind,  and  'taint  any  use  talking  up  about  any 
others.  Any  old  woman  can  make  gruel,  and  feed  a 
baby  with  catnip  tea.  Don't  offer  me  any  more  such 
work  as  that !  If  it's  work  that  is  work,  speak  out ! — 
I'm  always  ready." 

"  It's  work  that  nobody  else  can  do  for  me.  A  critical 
case  of  typhoid,  and  nobody  in  the  house  that  under- 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  gg 

stands  such  illness.  I've  promised  to  bring  you  to- 
night." 

"  You  knew  I  was  back,  then  ?  " 

"I  knew  you  would  be.  I  only  sent  you  at  the 
pinch.  I  warned  them  you'd  go  as  soon  as  things  were 
tolerably  comfortable." 

"  Of  course  I  would.  What  business  should  I  have 
where  there  was  nothing  wanted  of  me  but  to  go  to 
bed  at  nine  o'clock,  and  sleep  till  daylight  ?  That 
ain't  the  sort  of  corner  I  was  cut  out  to  fill." 

"  Well,  drink  your  tea,  and  put  on  your  bonnet. 
There's  a  carriage  at  the  door." 

"  Man  ?  or  woman  ? "  asked  Miss  Sampson,  setting 
down  her  empty  cup  on  the  now  cooling  stove. 

"  A  man, — Mr.  Henderson  Gartney,  Hickory  Street." 

"Out  of  his  head?" 

"  Yes, — and  getting  more  so.  Family  all  frightened 
to  death." 

"  Keep  'em  out  of  my  way,  then,  and  let  me  have 
him  to  myself.  One  crazy  patient  is  enough,  at  a  time, 
for  any  one  pair  of  hands.  I'm  ready." 

The  plaid  shawl  and  bonnet  were  on,  and  Miss  Samp- 
son had  her  bandbox  in  her  hand.  The  doctor  took 
up  the  carpet-bag. 

In  fifteen  minutes  more,  they  were  in  Hickory  Street ; 
and  the  nurse  was  speedily  installed,  or  rather  installed 
herself,  in  her  office.  Dr.  Gracie  hastened  away  to 
another  patient,  promising  to  call  again  at  bedtime. 

"  Now,  ma'am,"  said  Miss  Sampson  to  Mrs.  Gartney, 
who,  after  taking  her  first  to  the  bedside  of  the  patient, 
had  withdrawn  with  her  to  the  little  dressing-room 
adjoining,  and  given  her  a  resume  of  the  treatment  thus 
far  followed,  with  the  doctor's  last  directions  to  her- 
self,— "you  just  go  down  stairs  to  your  supper.  I 


70  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

know,  bj  your  looks,  you  ain't  had  a  mouthful  to-day. 
That's  no  way  to  help  take  care  of  sick  folks." 

Mrs.  Gartney  smiled  a  little,  feebly;  and  an  expres- 
sion of  almost  childlike  rest  and  relief  came  over  her 
face.  She  felt  herself  in  strong  hands. 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Shall  I  send  you  some- 
thing here  ? " 

"  I've  drunk  a  cup  of  tea,  before  I  started.  If  I  see 
my  way  clear,  I'll  run  down  for  a  bite  after  you  get 
through.  I  don't  want  any  special  providings.  I  take 
my  nibbles  anyhow,  as  I  go  along.  You  needn't  mind, 
more'n  as  if  I  wasn't  here.  I  shall  find  my  way  all 
over  the  house,  and  pick  up  what's  necessary.  Now, 
you  go." 

"  Only  tell  me  how  he  seems  to  you,"  questioned 
Mrs.  Gartney,  lingering  anxiously. 

"  Well, — not  so  terrible  sick.  Just  barely  bad 
enough  to  keep  me  here.  I  don't  take  any  easy  cases." 

The  odd,  abrupt  manner  and  speech  comforted,  while 
they  somewhat  astonished  Mrs.  Gartney.  Only  that 
she  felt  sure  Dr.  Gracie  would  have  brought  her  no 
one  but  the  very  person  who  ought  to  be  here,  she  would 
have  hardly  known  what  to  think  of  this  rough-spoken, 
unceremonious  woman. 

"  Leave  the  bread  and  butter  and  cold  chicken  on 
the  table,"  said  she  to  her  parlor  maid  afterward,  when 
the  tea-things  were  about  to  be  removed ;  "  and  keep  the 
chocolate  hot,  down  stairs.  Faithie, — sit  here;  and  if 
Miss  Sampson  comes  down  by-and-by,  see  that  she  is 
made  comfortable." 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  Miss  Sampson  came  down, 
and  then  it  was  with  Dr.  Gracie,  who  had  just  made 
his  last  visit  for  the  night. 

"  Cheer  up,  little  lady !  "  said  the  doctor,  meeting 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  7^ 

Faith's  anxious,  inquiring  glance  that  sped  so  quickly 
and  eagerly  from  one  face  to  the  other.  "  Not  so 
bad,  by  any  means,  as  we  might  be.  The  only  diffi- 
culty will  be  to  keep  Nurse  Sampson  here.  She  won't 
stay  a  minute,  if  we  begin  to  get  better  too  fast.  Yes — 
I  will  take  a  bit  of  chicken,  I  think;  and — what  have 
you  there  that's  hot  ?  "  as  the  maid  came  in  with  the 
chocolate  pot,  in  answer  to  Faith's  ring  of  the  bell. 
"  Ah,  yes !  Chocolate !  I  missed  my  tea,  somehow, 
to-night."  The  "  somehow "  had  been  in  his  kindly 
quest  of  the  best  nurse  in  Mishaumok  for  his  long-time 
friend  and  patient. 

"  Sit  down,  Miss  Sampson.  Save  muscle,  when  you 
can.  Let  me  help  you  to  a  scrap  of  cold  chicken. 
What  ?  Drumstick !  Miss  Faithie, — here  is  a  woman 
who  makes  it  a  principle  to  go  through  the  world,  choos- 
ing drumsticks !  She's  a  study ;  and  I  set  you  to  finding 
her  out." 

So  the  doctor  chatted  on,  for  the  ten  minutes  of 
his  further  stay,  and  then  took  leave,  ordering  Faith 
off  to  bed,  as  he  departed. 

Last  night,  as  he  had  told  Miss  Sampson,  the  family 
had  been  "  frightened  to  death."  He  had  found 
Faith  sitting  on  the  front  stairs,  at  midnight,  when  he 
came  in  at  a  sudden  summons,  severer  symptoms  having 
declared  themselves  in  the  sick  man.  She  was  pale 
and  shivering,  and  caught  him  nervously  by  both  hands, 
as  he  ascended. 

"Oh,  doctor!" 

"  And  oh,  Miss  Faithie !  This  is  no  place  for  you. 
You  ought  to  be  in  bed." 

"  But  I  can't.  Mother  is  all  alone,  except  Mahala. 
And  I  don't  dare  stay  up  there,  either.  What  shall 
we  do? 


72  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

For  all  answer,  the  doctor  had  just  taken  her  in  his 
arms,  and  carried  her  down  to  the  sofa  in  the  hall,  where 
he  laid  her,  and  covered  her  over  with  his  great-coat. 
There  she  staid,  passively,  till  he  came  back.  And 
then  he  told  her,  kindly  and  gravely,  that  if  she  could 
be  quite  quiet,  and  firm,  she  might  go  and  lie  on  the 
sofa  in  her  mother's  dressing-room  for  the  remainder 
of  the  night,  to  be  at  hand  for  any  needed  service.  To- 
morrow he  would  see  that  they  were  otherwise  provided. 

And  so,  to-night,  here  was  Miss  Sampson  eating  her 
drumstick. 

Faith  watched  the  hard  lines  of  her  face  as  she  did 
so,  and  wondered  what,  and  how  much  Dr.  Gracie  had 
meant  by  "  setting  her  to  find  her  out." 

"  I'm  afarid  you  haven't  had  a  very  nice  supper," 
said  she,  timidly.  "  Do  you  like  that  best  ?  " 

"  Somebody  must  always  eat  drumsticks,"  was  the 
concise  reply. 

And  so,  presently,  without  any  further  advance  to- 
ward acquaintance,  they  went  up  stairs ;  and  the  house, 
under  the  new,  energetic  rule,  soon  subsided  into  quiet 
for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LIFE  OB  DEATH  ? 
*'  With  God  the  Lord  belong  the  issues  from  death." — Ps.  68  ;  18. 

THE  nursery  was  a  corner  room,  opening  both  into 
Faith's  and  her  mother's.  Hendie  and  Mahala  Harris 
had  been  removed  up  stairs,  and  the  apartment  was  left 
at  Miss  Sampson's  disposal.  Mrs.  Gartney's  bed  had 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  73 

been  made  up  in  the  little  dressing-room  at  the  head  of 
the  front  entry,  so  that  she  and  the  nurse  had  the  sick- 
room between  them. 

Faith  came  down  the  two  steps  that  led  from  her 
room  into  the  nursery,  the  next  night  at  bedtime,  as 
Miss  Sampson  entered  from  her  father's  chamber  to 
put  on  her  night  wrapper  and  make  ready  for  her  watch. 

"  How  is  he,  nurse  ?  He  will  get  well,  won't  he  ? 
What  does  the  doctor  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Miss  Sampson,  shortly.  "  He  don't 
know,  and  he  don't  pretend  to.  And  that's  just  what 
proves  he's  good  for  something.  He  ain't  one  of  the 
sort  that  comes  into  a  sick-room  as  if  the  Almighty  had 
made  him  a  kind  of  special  delegit,  and  left  the  whole 
concern  to  him.  He  knows  there's  a  solemner  dealing 
there  than  his,  whether  it's  for  life  or  death." 

"  But  he  can't  help  thinking,"  said  Faith,  trem- 
blingly. "  And  I  wish  I  knew.  What  do  you — ?  " 
But  Faith  paused,  for  she  was  afraid,  after  all,  to  finish 
the  question,  and  to  hear  it  answered. 

"  I  don't  think.  I  just  keep  doing.  That's  my  part. 
Folks  that  think  too  much  of  what's  a-coming,  most 
likely  won't  attend  to  what  there  is." 

Faith  was  finding  out, — a  little  of  Miss  Sampson, 
and  a  good  deal  of  herself.  Had  she  not  thought  too 
much  of  what  might  be  coming !  Had  she  not  missed, 
perhaps,  some  of  her  own  work,  when  that  work  was 
easier  than  now?  And  how  presumptuously  she  had 
wished  for  "  something  to  happen !  "  Was  God  punish- 
ing her  for  that  ? 

"  You  just  keep  still,  and  patient, — and  wait,"  said 
Miss  Sampson,  noting  the  wistful  look  of  pain. 
"  That's  your  work,  and  after  all,  maybe  it's  the  hard- 
est kind.  And  I  can't  take  it  off  folks'  shoulders," 


74  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

added  she  to  herself  in  an  under-voice ;  "  so  I  needn't 
set  up  for  the  very  toughest  jobs,  to  be  sure." 

"  I'll  try,"  answered  Faith,  submissively,  with  quiver- 
ing lipa,  "  only  if  there  should  be  anything  that  I  could 
do, — to  sit  up,  or  anything, — you'll  let  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  replied  the  nurse,  cheerily.  "  I 
shan't  be  squeamish  about  asking  when  there's  anything 
I  really  want  done." 

Faith  moved  toward  the  door  that  opened  to  her 
father's  room.  It  was  ajar.  She  pushed  it  gently 
open,  and  paused.  "  I  may  go  in,  mayn't  I,  nurse,  just 
for  a  good-night  look  ?  " 

The  sick  man  heard  her  voice,  though  he  did  not 
catch  her  words. 

"  Come  in,  Faithie,"  said  he,  with  one  of  his  half- 
gleams  of  consciousness,  "  I'll  see  you,  daughter,  as  long 
as  I  live." 

Faith's  heart  nearly  broke  at  that,  and  she  came, 
tearfully  and  silently,  to  the  bed  side,  and  laid  her  little, 
cool  hand  on  her  father's  fevered  one,  and  looked  down 
on  his  face,  worn,  and  suffering,  and  flushed, — and 
thought  within  herself, — it  was  a  prayer  and  vow  un- 
spoken,— "  Oh,  if  God  will  only  let  him  live,  I  will 
find  something  that  I  can  do  for  him !  " 

And  then  she  lifted  the  linen  cloth  that  was  laid  over 
his  forehead,  and  dipped  it  afresh  in  the  bowl  of  ice- 
water  beside  the  bed,  and  put  it  gently  back,  aud  just 
kissed  his  hair  softly,  and  went  out  into  her  own  room. 

Three  nights — three  days — more,  the  fever  raged. 
And  on  the  fourth  night  after,  Faith  and  her  mother 
knew,  by  the  scrupulous  care  with  which  the  doctor 
gave  minute  directions  for  the  few  hours  to  come,  and 
the  resolute  way  in  which  Miss  Sampson  declared  that 
"  whoever  else  had  a  mind  to  watch,  she  should  sit  up 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  75 

till  morning  this  time,"  that  the  critical  point  was 
reached;  that  these  dark,  silent  moments  that  would 
flit  by  so  fast,  were  to  spell,  as  they  passed  by,  the 
sentence  of  life  or  death. 

And  so  the  midnight  settled  down  upon  the  street 
nnd  city,  crowded  full  of  human  thought,  and  hope, 
:-nd  fear,  but  whose  vital  centre  to  them  was  all  in 
that  one,  dim  chamber. 

Faith  would  not  be  put  by.  Her  mother  sat  on  one 
«dde  the  bed,  while  the  nurse  busied  herself  noiselessly, 
or  waited,  motionless,  upon  the  other.  Down  by  the 
fireside,  on  a  low  stool,  with  her  head  on  the  cushion 
of  an  easy-chair,  leaned  the  young  girl, — her  heart  full, 
and  every  nerve  strained  with  emotion  and  suspense. 

She  will  never  know,  precisely,  how  these  hours 
went  on.  She  can  remember  the  low  breathing  from 
the  bed,  and  the  now  and  then  half -distinct  utterance, 
as  the  brain  wandered  still  in  a  dreamy,  feverish  maze ; 
and  she  never  will  forget  the  precise  color  and  pattern 
of  the  calico  wrapper  that  Nurse  Sampson  wore;  but 
she  can  recollect  nothing  else  of  it  all,  except  that,  after 
a  time,  longer  or  shorter,  she  glanced  up,  fearfully, 
as  a  strange  hush  seemed  to  have  come  over  the  room, 
and  met  a  look  and  gesture  of  the  nurse  that  warned 
her  down  again,  for  her  life. 

And  then,  other  hours,  or  minutes,  she  knows  not 
which,  went  by. 

And  then,  a  stir, — a  feeble  word, — a  whisper  from 
Nurse  Sampsen, — a  low  "  Thank  God !  "  from  her 
mother. 

The  crisis  was  passed.     Henderson  Gartney  lived. 


76  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 


CHAPTER  X. 

BOUGH  ENDS. 

"  So  others  shall 

patience,  labor,  to  their  heart  and  hand, 
From  thy  hand  and  thy  heart,  and  thy  brave  cheer, 
And  God's  grace  fructify  through  thee  to  all." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

"M.  S.  What  does  that  stand  for?"  said  little 
Hendie,  reading  the  white  letters  painted  on  the  black 
leather  bottom  of  nurse's  carpet-bag.  He  got  back, 
now,  often,  in  the  daytime,  to  his  old  nursery  quarters, 
where  his  father  liked  to  hear  his  chatter  and  play,  for 
a  short  time  together, — though  he  still  slept,  with  Ma- 
hala,  up  stairs.  "  Does  that  mean  (  Miss  Sampson  ? ' 

Faith  glanced  up  from  her  stocking-mending,  with 
a  little  fun  and  a  little  curiosity  in  her  eyes.  She, 
too,  had  noted  the  initials  with  a  sort  of  wondering 
thought  whether  they  could  possibly  mean  anything 
else.  Whether  the  stiff,  dry,  uncompromising  woman 
whom  she  daily  saw  going  methodically  through  a  round 
of  hard  and  wearing  duty,  could  have  ever  had  a  Chris- 
tian name  to  go  by ;  could  ever  have  been  a  little  Mary 
or  Margaret.  It  seemed  as  if  she  must  have  come  into 
the  world  tall,  and  straight,  and  pinched,  and  resolute, 
and  gone  to  nursing  sick  people  forthwith.  That  she 
could  ever  have  lived  a  child  life,  with  nothing  to  do 
but  play, — that  was  a  thing  hardly  to  be  believed. 

"  What  doee  '  M.'  stand  for  ?  "  repeated  Hendie. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  77 

The  nurse  was  "  setting  to  rights  "  about  the  room. 
She  turned  round  at  the  question,  from  hanging  a  towel 
straight  over  the  stand,  and  looked  a  little  amazed,  as 
if  she  had  almost  forgotten,  herself.  But  it  came  out, 
with  a  quick  opening  and  shutting  of  the  thin  lips,  like 
the  snipping  of  a  pair  of  scissors, — "  Mehitable." 

That  was  not  so  wonderful.  Faith  could  believe  that. 
But  she  knew  it  could  never  have  been  anything  shorter 
or  softer. 

Faith  had  been  greatly  drawn  to  this  odd,  efficient 
woman.  Beside  that  her  skilful,  untiring  nursing 
had,  humanly,  been  the  means  of  saving  her  father's 
life,  which  alone  had  warmed  her  with  an  earnest  grati- 
tude that  was  restless  to  prove  itself,  and  that  welled  up 
in  every  glance  and  tone  she  gave  Miss  Sampson,  there 
were  a  certain  respect  and  interest  that  could  not  with- 
hold themselves  from  one  who  so  evidently  worked  on 
with  a  great  motive  that  dignified  her  smallest  acts.  In 
whom  self-abnegation  was  the  underlying  principle  of 
all  daily  doing. 

Miss  Sampson  had  staid  on  at  the  Gartneys',  notwith- 
standing the  doctor's  prediction,  and  her  usual  habit. 
And,  in  truth,  her  patient  did  not  "  get  well  too  fast." 
She  was  needed  now  as  really  as  ever,  though  the  imme- 
diate danger  which  had  summoned  her  was  past,  and 
the  fever  had  gone.  The  months  of  overstrained  effort 
and  anxiety  that  had  culminated  in  its  violent  attack 
were  telling  upon  him  now,  in  the  scarcely  less  perilous 
prostration  that  followed.  And  Mrs.  Gartney  had  quite 
given  out  since  the  excessive  tension  of  nerve  and  feeling 
had  relaxed.  She  was  almost  ill  enough  to  be  regularly 
nursed  herself.  She  alternated  between  her  bed  in  the 
dressing-room  and  an  easy-chair  opposite  her  husband's, 
at  his  fireside.  Miss  Sampson  knfcw  "wtoem  she  was 


78  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

really  wanted,  whether  the  emergency  were  more  or  less 
obvious.  She  knew  the  mischief  of  a  change  of  hands 
at  such  a  time.  And  so  she  staid  on,  though  she  did 
sleep  comfortably  of  a  night,  and  had  many  an  hour  of 
rest  in  the  daytime,  when  Faith  would  come  into  the 
nursery  with  a  book,  or  her  work-basket,  and  constitute 
herself  her  companion. 

Miss  Sampson  was  to  her  like  a  book  to  be  read, 
whereof  she  turned  but  a  leaf  or  so  at  a  time,  as  she 
had  accidental  opportunity,  yet  whose  every  page  ren- 
dered up  a  deep,  strong, — above  all,  a  most  sound  and 
healthy  meaning. 

She  turned  over  a  leaf,  one  day,  in  this  wise. 

"  Miss  Sampson,  how  came  you,  at  first,  to  be  a  sick- 
nurse  ?  " 

The  shadow  of  some  old  struggle  seemed  to  come 
over  Miss  Sampson's  face,  as  she  answered,  briefly, — 

"  I  wanted  to  find  the  very  toughest  sort  of  a  job  te 
do." 

Faith  looked  up,  surprised. 

"  But  I  heard  you  tell  my  father  that  you  had  been 
nursing  more  than  twenty  years.  You  must  have  been 
quite  a  young  woman  when  you  began.  I  wonder — " 
and  here  Faith  checked  herself,  lest  her  wondering 
should  seem  to  verge  upon  impertinence. 

"  You  wonder  why  I  wasn't  like  most  other  young 
women,  I  suppose.  Why  I  didn't  get  married,  perhaps, 
and  have  folks  of  my  own  to  take  care  of?  Well,  I 
didn't ;  and  the  Lord  gave  me  a  pretty  plain  indication 
that  He  hadn't  laid  out  that  kind  of  a  life  for  me.  So 
then  I  just  looked  around  to  find  out  what  better  He 
had  for  me  to  do.  And  I  hit  on  the  very  work  I  wanted. 
A  trade  that  it  took  all  the  old  Sampson  grit  to  follow. 
I  made  up  my  mind,  as  the  doctor  says,  that  somebody 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  79 

in  the  world  had  got  to  choose  drumsticks,  and  I  might 
as  well  take  hold  of  one." 

"  But  don't  you  ever  get  tired  of  it  all,  and  long  for 
something  to  rest  or  amuse  you  ?  " 

"  Amuse !  I  couldn't  be  amused,  child.  I've  been 
in  too  much  awful  earnest  ever  to  be  much  amused 
again.  No,  I  want  to  die  in  the  harness.  It's  hard 
work  I  want.  I  couldn't  have  been  tied  down  to  a 
common,  easy  sort  of  life.  I  want  something  to  fight 
and  grapple  with ;  and  I'm  thankful  there's  been  a  way 
opened  for  me  to  do  good  according  to  my  nature.  If 
I  hadn't  had  sickness  and  death  to  battle  against,  I 
should  have  got  into  human  quarrels,  maybe,  just  for 
the  sake  of  feeling  ferocious." 

"  And  you  always  take  the  very  worst  and  hardest 
cases,  Doctor  Gracie  says." 

"  What's  the  use  of  taking  a  tough  job  if  you  don't 
face  the  toughest  part  of  it  ?  I  don't  want  the  com- 
fortable end  of  the  business.  Somebody's  got  to  nurse 
smallpox,  and  yellow  fever,  and  raving-distracted  peo- 
ple; and  I  know  the  Lord  made  me  fit  to  do  just  that 
very  work.  There  ain't  many  that  He  does  make  for 
it,  but  I'm  one.  And  if  I  shirked,  there'd  be  a  stitch 
dropped." 

"  Yellow  fever !  where  have  you  nursed  that  ?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  didn't  go  to  Norfolk  ?  I've 
nursed  it,  and  I've  had  it,  and  nursed  it  again.  I've 
been  in  the  cholera  hospitals,  too.  I'm  seasoned  to 
most  everything." 

"  Do  you  think  everybody  ought  to  take  the  hardest 
thing  they  can  find,  to  do  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  everybody  ought  to  eat  drumsticks  ? 
We'd  have  to  kill  an  unreasonable  lot  of  fowls  to  let 
'em!  No.  The  Lord  portions  out  breasts  and  wings, 


gO  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

as  well  as  legs.  If  He  puts  anything  into  your  plate, 
take  it" 

Doctor  Gracie  always  had  a  word  for  the  nurse, 
when  he  came ;  and,  to  do  her  justice,  it  was  seldom  but 
she  had  a  word  to  give  him  back. 

"  Well,  Miss  Sampson,"  said  he  gayly,  one  bright 
morning,  you're  as  fresh  as  the  day.  What  pulls  down 
other  folks  seems  to  set  you  up.  I  declare  you're  as 
blooming  as — twenty-five. 

"  You — fib — like — sixty !  It's  no  such  thing !  And 
if  it  was,  I'd  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it." 

"  Prodigious !  as  your  namesake,  the  Dominie,  would 
say.  Don't  tell  me  a  woman  is  ever  ashamed  of  looking 
young,  or  handsome !  " 

"  Now,  look  here,  Doctor !  "  said  Miss  Sampson, 
with  her  firmest  intonation,  setting  down  a  pitcher  she 
had  just  brought  in,  and  facing  round  to  do  battle, — 
"  I  never  was  handsome ;  and  I  thank  the  Lord  He's 
given  me  enough  to  do  in  the  world  to  wear  off  my  young 
looks  long  ago !  And  any  woman  ought  to  be  ashamed 
that  gets  to  be  thirty  and  upwards,  to  say  nothing  of 
forty-five,  and  keeps  her  baby  face  on!  It's  a  sign 
she  ain't  been  of  much  account,  anyhow." 

"  Oh,  but  there  are  always  differences  and  excep- 
tions," persisted  the  doctor,  who  liked  nothing  better 
than  to  draw  Miss  Sampson  out.  "  There  are  some 
faces  that  take  till  thirty,  at  least,  to  bring  out  all  their 
possibilities  of  good  looks,  and  wear  on,  then,  till  fifty. 
I've  seem  'em.  And  the  owners  were  no  drones  or 
do-nothings,  either.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  I  say  there's  two  ways  of  growing  old.  And  grow- 
ing old  ain't  always  growing  ugly.  Some  folks  grow 
old  from  the  inside,  out;  and  some  from  the  outside, 
in.  There's  old  furniture,  and  there's  growing  trees !  " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  3^ 

"  And  the  trunk  that  is  roughest  below  may  branch 
out  greenest  a-top !  "  said  the  doctor. 

But  the  conversation  had  got  as  nearly  into  poetry 
as  was  possible  with  practical  Miss  Sampson,  and  she 
broke  it  off,  or  brought  it  down,  by  saying,  as  she 
handed  Mr.  Gartney  his  port-wine  tonic, — 

"  It's  lucky  we  touched  on  bark,  sir,  or  you  mightn't 
have  got  your  strengthener  to-day !  " 

The  talk  Faith  heard  now  and  then,  in  her  walks 
from  home,  or  when  some  of  "  the  girls  "  came  in  and 
called  her  down,  into  the  parlor, — about  pretty  looks, 
and  becoming  dresses,  and  who  danced  with  who  at  the 
"  German  "  last  night,  and  what  a  scrape  Loolie  Lloyd 
had  got  into  with  mixing  up  and  misdating  her  engage- 
ments at  the  class,  and  the  last  new  roll  for  the  hair, — 
used  to  seem  rather  trivial  and  aimless  to  her  in  these 
days! 

Occasionally,  when  Mr.  Gartney  had  what  nurse 
called  a  "  good  "  day,  he  would  begin  to  ask  for  some 
of  his  books  and  papers,  with  a  thought  toward  business ; 
and  then.  Miss  Sampson  would  display  her  carpet-bag, 
and  make  a  show  of  picking  up  things  to  put  in  it; 
"  For,"  said  she,  when  you  get  at  your  business,  it'll 
be  high  time  for  me  to  go  about  mine." 

"  But  only  for  half-an-hour,  nurse !  I'll  give  you  that 
much  leave  of  absence,  and  then  we'll  have  things  back 
again  as  they  were  before." 

"  I  guess  you  will !  And  further  than  they  were  be- 
fore. No,  Mr.  Gartney,  you've  got  to  behave.  I  won't 
have  them  vicious-looking  accounts  about,  and  it  don't 
signify." 

"  If  it  don't,  why  not  ?  "  But  it  ended  in  the  ac- 
counts and  the  carpet-bag  disappearing  together. 

Until  one  morning,  some  three  weeks  from  the  begin- 
6 


82  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

ning  of  Mr.  Gartney's  illness,  when,  after  a  few  days' 
letting  alone  the  whole  subject,  he  suddenly  appealed 
to  the  doctor. 

"  Doctor,"  said  he,  as  that  gentleman  entered,  "  I 
must  have  Braybrook  up  here  this  afternoon.  I 
dropped  things  just  where  I  stood,  you  know.  It's 
time  to  take  an  observation." 

The  doctor  looked  at  his  patient  gravely.  Ap- 
parently, he  saw  that  he  must  yield  a  point  for  the 
present. 

"  What  must  be,  must,  I  suppose,"  he  said.  But  he 
added  this,  which  startled  Mrs.  Gartney  as  she  heard  it, 
and  set  her  husband  into  an  uneasy  thinking,  for  an 
hour  after  Doctor  Gracie  had  gone. 

"  Can't  you  be  content  with  simply  picking  up  things, 
and  putting  them  by,  for  this  year  ?  What  I  ought  to 
tell  you.  to  do  would  be  to  send  business  to  the  right 
about,  and  go  off  for  an  entire  rest  and  change,  for  three 
months,  at  least." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,  doc- 
tor!" 

"  Perhaps  not,  on  one  side  of  the  subject.  I  feel 
pretty  certain  on  the  other,  however." 

Mr.  Gartney  did  not  send  for  Braybrook  that  after- 
noon. The  next  morning  however  he  came,  and  the 
tabooed  books  and  papers  were  got  out. 

In  another  day  or  two,  Miss  Sampson  did  pack  her 
carpet-bag,  and  go  back  to  her  air-tight  stove  and  soli- 
tary cups  of  tea.  Her  occupation  in  Hickory  Street 
was  gone. 

Was  this  all  the  Gartneys  were  ever  to  have  in  com- 
mon with  her?  Were  the  lives  that  had  touched, — 
had  coincided  for  a  little  length,  and  gone  together 
through  a  deep  experience, — to  separate  and  be  nothing 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  §3 

to  each  other  henceforth,  among  all  the  tangle  and 
criss-cross  of  human  destiny  and  purpose?  He  who 
brings  together  and  divides,  and  never  without  a  mean- 
ing, knows.  The  lives  had  touched, — had  qualified 
each  other. 


CHAPTER  XL 

CROSS  CORNERS. 

"  O  thou  that  pinest  in  the  imprisonment  of  the  Actual,  and 
oriest  bitterly  to  the  Gods  for  a  kingdom,  wherein  to  rule  and 
create,  know  this  of  a  truth,  the  thing  thou  seekest  is  already 
with  thee,  '  here  or  nowhere,'  couldst  thou  only  see !  " — CARLYLE. 

"  IT  is  of  no  use  to  talk  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Gartney, 
wearily.  "  If  I  live, — as  long  as  I  live, — I  must  do 
business.  How  else  are  you  to  get  along  ?  " 

"  How  shall  we  get  along  if  you  do  not  live  ?  "  asked 
his  wife,  in  a  low,  anxious  tone. 

"  My  life's  insured,"  was  all  Mr.  Gartney's  answer, 
after  a  minute's  pause. 

"  Father !  "  cried  Faith,  distressfully. 

Faith  had  been  taken  more  and  more  into  counsel 
and  confidence  with  her  parents  since  the  time  of  the 
illness  that  had  brought  them  all  so  close  together. 
And  more  and  more  helpful  she  had  grown,  both  in 
word  and  doing,  since  she  had  learned  to  look  daily 
for  the  daily  work  set  before  her,  and  to  perform  it 
conscientiously,  even  although  it  consisted  only  of  little 
things.  She  still  remembered  with  enthusiasm  Nurse 
Sampson  and  the  "  drumsticks,"  and  managed  to  pick 
up  now  and  then  one  for  herself.  Small  disagreeabili- 
ties,  to  be  sure,  they  were,  that  she  could  find  to  take 


84  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

upon  herself ;  but  she  was  learning  to  scorn  the  "  com- 
fortable end  of  a  business."  She  had  taken  in  a  lesson, 
— rather  God  had  sent  her  one, — by  the  way,  that  was 
to  fit  her  for  future  greater  doing.  Meantime  she 
began  to  see,  indistinctly,  before  her,  the  vision  of  a 
work  that  must  be  done  by  some  one,  and  the  duty  of 
it  pressed  hourly  closer  home  to  herself.  Her  father's 
health  had  never  been  fully  re-established.  He  had 
begun  to  use  his  strength  before,  and  faster  than,  it 
came.  There  was  danger, — it  needed  no  Doctor  Gracie, 
even,  to  tell  them  so, — of  grave  disease,  if  this  went 
on.  And  still,  whenever  urged,  his  answer  was  the 
same.  "  What  would  become  of  his  family  without 
his  business  ?  " 

Faith  turned  these  things  over  and  over  in  her  mind. 

"  Father,"  said  she,  after  a  while, — the  conversation 
having  been  dropped  at  the  old  conclusion,  and  nobody 
appearing  to  have  anything  more  to  say, — "  I  don't 
know  anything  about  business ;  but  I  wish  you'd  tell  me 
how  much  money  you've  got !  " 

Her  father  laughed ;  a  sad  sort  of  laugh  though,  that 
was  not  so  much  amusement  as  tenderness  and  pity. 
Then,  as  if  the  whole  thing  were  a  mere  joke,  yet  with 
a  shade  upon  his  face  that  betrayed  there  was  far  too 
much  truth  under  the  jest,  after  all,  he  took  out  his 
portmonnaie  and  told  her  to  look  and  see. 

"  You  know  I  don't  mean  that,  father !  How  much 
in  the  bank,  and  everywhere?" 

"  Precious  little  in  the  bank,  now,  Faithie.  Enough 
to  keep  house  with  for  a  year,  nearly,  perhaps.  But 
if  I  were  to  take  it  and  go  off  and  spend  it  in  traveling, 
you  can  understand  that  the  housekeeping  would  fall 
short,  can't  you  ?  " 

Faith  looked  horrified.     She  was  bringing  down  her 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  35 

vague  ideas  of  money  that  came  from  somewhere, 
through  her  father's  pocket,  as  water  comes  from  Lake 
Kinsittewink  by  the  turning  of  a  faucet,  to  the  narrow 
point  of  actuality. 

"  But  that  isn't  all,  I  know !  I've  heard  you  talk  about 
railroad  dividends,  and  such  things." 

"  Oh !  what  does  the  Western  Road  pay  this  time  ?  " 
asked  his  wife. 

"  I've  had  to  sell  out  my  stock  there,"  replied  Mr. 
Gartney,  with  a  sigh. 

"  And  where's  the  money,  father  ? "  asked  Faith, 
not  curious,  but  bold  with  her  good  intent. 

"  Gone  to  pay  debts,  child,"  was  the  answer. 

Mrs.  Gartney  said  nothing,  but  she  looked  very 
grave.  Her  husband  surmised,  perhaps,  that  she  would 
go  on  to  imagine  worse  than  had  really  happened,  and 
so  added,  presently, — 

"  I  havn't  been  obliged  to  sell  all  my  railroad  stocks, 
wifey.  I  held  on  to  some.  There's  the  New  York 
Central  all  safe ;  and  the  Michigan  Central,  too.  That 
wouldn't  have  sold  so  well,  to  be  sure,  just  when  I  was 
wanting  the  money ;  but  things  are  looking  better,  now." 

"  Father,"  said  Faithie,  with  her  most  coaxing  little 
smile,  "  please  just  take  this  bit  of  paper  and  pencil,  and 
set  down  these  stocks  and  things,  will  you  ?  " 

The  little  smile  worked  its  way ;  and  half  in  idleness, 
half  in  acquiescence,  Mr.  Gartney  took  the  pencil  and 
noted  down  a  short  list  of  items. 

"  It's  very  little,  Faith,  you  see."     They  ran  thus : 
New  York  Central  Railroad  .         20  shares. 

Michigan   Central         "  .          15     " 

Kinnicutt  Branch  "  .  .  10  " 
Mishaumok  Insurance  Co.  .  .  15  " 
Merchants  Bank  30  " 


86  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  How  much  are  the  shares  worth,  father  ? "  asked 
persistent  Faith. 

"  Well — at  this  moment — so — and  so — "  noting  down 
against  each  the  cash  valuation. 

"  And  now,  father,  please  put  down  how  much  you 
get  a  year  in  dividends." 

"  Not  always  the  same,  little  busybody." 

Nevertheless  he  noted  down  the  average  sums.  And 
the  total  was  between  six  and  seven  hundred  dollars. 

"  But  that  isn't  all.  You've  got  other  things.  Why, 
there's  the  house  at  Cross  Corners." 

"  Yes,  but  I  can't  let  it,  you  know." 

"  What  used  you  to  get  for  it  ? " 

"  Two  hundred  and  fifty.     For  house  and  land." 

"  And  you  own  this  house,  too,  father  ?  " 

"  Yes.     This  is  your  mother's." 

"  How  much  rent  would  this  bring  ?  " 

Mr.  Gartney  turned  around  and  looked  at  his  daugh- 
ter. He  began  to  see  there  was  a  meaning  in  her  ques- 
tions. And  as  he  caught  her  eye,  he  read,  or  discerned 
without  fully  reading,  a  certain  eager  kindling  there. 

"  Why,  what  has  come  over  you,  Faithie,  to  set  you 
catechising  so  ? " 

Faith  laughed. 

"  Just  answer  this,  please,  and  I  won't  ask  a  single 
question  more  to-night." 

"  About  the  rent  ?  Why,  this  house  ought  to  bring 
six  hundred,  certainly.  And  now,  if  the  court  will 
permit,  I'll  read  the  news." 

Mr.  Gartney  took  up  the  evening  paper,  and  Faith 
sat  thinking. 

When  she  went  up  to  her  own  room,  she  carried 
thither  the  bit  of  paper,  with  its  calculation. 

About  a  week  after  this,  in  the  latter  half  of  one  of 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  §7 

those  spring  days  that  come  with  a  warm  breath  to  tell 
that  summer  is  glowing  somewhere,  and  that  her  face 
is  northward,  Aunt  Faith  Henderson  came  out  upon 
the  low,  vine-latticed  stoop  of  her  house  in  Kinnicutt. 
There  is  a  story  to  tell  of  that  house,  innocent  of  paint, 
that  has  darkened  and  darkened  in  the  suns  and  rains, 
and  yet  stood  solidly,  with  infrequent  repairs  of  shingle 
and  clapboard,  for  more  than  two  hundred  years.  But 
it  cannot  be  told  at  this  moment,  for  I  must  tell  you  of 
another  thing — Aunt  Henderson's  surprise. 

She  stood  at  the  westerly  end  of  this  porch,  looking 
down  and  off  toward  the  sunset,  that  rolled  its  golden 
•waves  over  the  low,  distant  hills,  till  they  seemed  to  fill 
up  the  broad  meadow-space  that  intervened  with  a 
molten  glory,  sublimating  overhead  into  a  glittering  mist 
that  melted  out  at  last  into  the  pure  depth  of  blue. 

Aunt  Henderson's  thoughts  had  wandered  off  as  far, 
or  farther,  seemingly,  than  her  eyes. 

Up  the  little  foot-path  from  the  road, — across  the 
bit  of  greensward  that  lay  between  it  and  the  stoop, — 
came  a  quick,  noiseless  step,  and  there  was  a  touch, 
presently,  on  the  old  lady's  arm. 

Faith  Gartney  stood  beside  her,  in  trim  straw  bonnet 
and  shawl,  with  a  black  leather  bag  upon  her  arm. 

"  Auntie !  I've  come  to  make  you  a  tiny  little  visit ! 
Till  day  after  to-morrow." 

Aunt  Henderson  wheeled  round  suddenly  at  the  touch, 
— set  her  shoulders  back  against  the  house,  which  fortu 
nately  stood  in  the  way,  or  she  might  have  described 
such  an  arc  of  a  circle  as  is  included  between  two  radii 
at  right  angles  to  each  other  and  five  feet  six-and-a-half 
inches  in  length ;  brought  her  thoughts  home  again  from 
their  far  outstretch,  and  concentrated  them  as  best  she 
might  on  the  pretty  figure  immediately  before  her. 


gg  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  Faith  Gartney !  However  came  you  here  ?  And 
in  such  a  fashion,  too,  without  a  word  of  warning,  like 
— an  angel  from  Heaven !  "  Concluding  her  sentence 
with  a  simile  somewhat  unexpected  to  herself,  growing 
out  of  those  mingled  impressions  of  the  resplendent  sky 
and  Faithie's  fair,  smiling  face. 

"  I  came  up  in  the  cars,  auntie !  I  felt  just  like  it! 
Will  you  keep  me  ?  " 

"  Glory !  Glory  McWhirk !  "  Like  the  good  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,  Aunt  Henderson  liked  often  to  give  the 
whole  name;  and  calling,  she  disappeared  round  the 
corner  of  the  stoop,  without  ever  a  word  of  more  assured 
welcome. 

"Put  on  the  teapot  again,  and  make  a  slice  of 
toast."  The  good  lady's  voice,  going  on  with  farther 
directions,  was  lost  in  the  intricate  threading  of  the 
inner  maze  of  the  singular  old  dwelling,  and  Faith  fol- 
lowed her  as  far  as  the  first  apartment,  where  she  set 
down  her  bag  and  removed  her  bonnet. 

It  was  a  quaint,  dim  room,  overbrowed  and  gloomed 
by  the  roofed  projection  of  the  stoop ;  low-ceiled,  high- 
wainscoted  and  panelled.  All  in  oak,  of  the  natural 
color,  deepened  and  glossed  by  time  and  wear.  The 
heavy  beams  that  supported  the  floor  above  were  un- 
disguised, and  left  the  ceiling  in  panels  also,  as  it  were, 
between.  In  these  highest  places,  a  man  six  feet  tall 
could  hardly  have  stood  without  bending.  He  certainly 
would  not,  whether  he  could  or  no.  Even  Aunt  Faith, 
with  her  five  feet,  six-and-a-half,  dropped  a  little  of  her 
dignity,  habitually,  when  she  entered.  But  then,  as 
she  said,  "  A  hen  always  bobs  her  head  when  she  comes 
in  at  a  barn-door."  Between  the  windows  stood  an 
old,  old-fashioned  secretary,  that  filled  up  from  floor 
to  ceiling;  and  over  the  fireplace  a  mirror  of  equally 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  §9 

antique  date  tilted  forward  from  the  wall.  Opposite 
the  secretary,  a  plain  mahogany  table;  and  eight  high- 
backed,  claw-footed  chairs  ranged  stiffly  around  the 
room. 

Aunt  Henderson  was  proud  of  her  old  ways,  her  old 
furniture,  and  her  house,  that  was  older  than  all. 

Some  far  back  ancestor  and  early  settler  had  built 
it, — the  beginning  of  it, — before  Kinnicutt  had  even 
become  a  town;  and — rare  exception  to  the  changes 
elsewhere — generation  after  generation  of  the  same 
name  and  line  had  inhabited  it  until  now.  Aunt  Faith, 
exultingly,  told  each  curious  visitor  that  it  had  been 
built  precisely  two  hundred  and  ten  years.  Out  in 
the  back  kitchen,  or  lean-to,  was  hung  to  a  rafter  the 
identical  gun  with  which  the  "  old  settler  "  had  ranged 
the  forest  that  stretched  then  from  the  very  door;  and 
higher  up,  across  a  frame  contrived  for  it,  was  the 
"  wooden  saddle  "  fabricated  for  the  back  of  the  placid, 
slow-moving  ox,  in  the  time  when  horses  were  as  yet 
rare  in  the  new  country,  and  used  with  pillions,  to 
transport  I  can't  definitely  say  how  many  of  the  family 
to  "  meeting." 

Between  these, — the  best  room  and  the  out-kitchen, 
— the  labyrinth  of  sitting-room,  bedrooms,  kitchen 
proper,  milk-room  and  pantry,  partitioned  off,  or  added 
on,  many  of  them  since  the  primary  date  of  the  main 
structure,  would  defy  the  pencil  of  modern  architect, 
and  must  be  left  in  their  dim  confusion  to  the  imagi- 
nation. 

In  one  of  these  irregularly  clustered  apartments  that 
opened  out  on  different  aspects,  unexpectedly,  from 
their  conglomerant  centre,  Faith  sat,  some  fifteen  min- 
utes after  her  entrance  into  the  house,  at  a  little  round 
table  between  two  corner  windows  that  looked  northwest 


90  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

and  southwest,  and  together  took  in  the  full  radiance 
of  the  evening  sky. 

Opposite  sat  her  aunt,  taking  care  of  her  as  regarded 
tea,  toast,  and  plain  country  loaf-cake,  and  watching 
somewhat  curiously,  also,  her  face. 

Faith's  face  had  changed  a  little  since  Aunt  Hender- 
son had  seen  her  last.  It  was  not  the  careless  girl's 
face  she  had  known.  There  was  a  thought  in  it  now. 
A  thought  that  seemed  to  go  quite  out  from,  and  forget 
the  self  from  which  it  came. 

Aunt  Henderson  wondered  greatly  what  sudden  whim 
or  inward  purpose  had  brought  her  grand-niece  hither. 

When  Faith  absolutely  declined  any  more  tea  or 
cake,  Miss  Henderson's  tap  on  the  table-leaf  brought  in 
Glory  McWhirk. 

A  tall,  well-grown  girl  girl  of  eighteen  was  Glory, 
now, — quite  another  Glory  than  had  lightened,  long 
ago,  the  dull  little  house  in  Budd  Street,  and  filled  it 
with  her  bright,  untutored  dreams.  The  luminous 
tresses  had  had  their  way  since  then ;  that  is,  with  cer- 
tain comfortable  bounds  prescribed;  and  rippled  them- 
selves backward  from  a  clear,  contented  face,  into  the 
net  that  held  them  tidily,  but  had  its — meshes — full  to 
do  it,  after  a  style  of  their  own,  that  in  these  later  days 
Fashion  and  Art  have  striven  hopelessly  to  achieve  with 
crimping-pins  and — "  rats!  " 

I  said  Glory's  face  was  contented ;  yet  it  was  not  with 
the  utter  content  of  a  little  soul  that  looks  not  beyond 
the  moment.  There  was  a  yearning  and  a  dreaminess 
deep  in  her  eyes,  when  you  looked  far  enough  to  find 
it,  that  told,  even  yet,  of  unfulfilment ;  of  something 
unconsciously  waited  for  still,  and  sure  to  come.  It 
was  one  of  those  faces  that,  find  them  where  you  may, 
carry  God's  prophecy  in  them. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  91 

Faith  looked  up,  and  remembered  the  poor  office-girl 
of  three  years  since,  half  clad  and  hopeless,  with  a 
secret  amaze  at  what  "  Aunt  Faith  had  made  of  her." 

"  You  may  give  me  some  water,  Glory,"  said  Miss 
Henderson. 

Glory  brought  the  pitcher,  and  poured  into  the 
tumbler,  and  gazed  at  Faith's  pretty  face,  and  the  dark- 
brown  glossy  rolls  that  framed  it,  until  the  water  fairly 
ran  over  the  table. 

"  There !  there !  Why,  Glory,  what  are  you  thinking 
of  ?  "  cried  Miss  Henderson. 

Glory  was  thinking  her  old  thoughts, — wakened  al- 
ways by  all  that  was  beautiful  and  beyond. 

She  came  suddenly  to  herself,  however,  and  darted 
off,  with  her  face  as  bright  a  crimson  as  her  hair  was 
golden;  flashing  up  so,  as  she  did  most  easily,  into  as 
veritable  a  Glory  as  ever  was.  Never  had  baby  been 
more  aptly  or  prophetically  named. 

Coming  back,  towel  in  hand,  to  stop  the  freshet  she 
had  set  flowing,  she  dared  not  give  another  glance  across 
the  table;  but  went  busily  and  deftly  to  work,  clearing 
it  of  all  that  should  be  cleared,  that  she  might  make  her 
shy  way  off  again  before  she  should  be  betrayed  into 
other  unwonted  blundering. 

"  And  now,  Faith  Gartney,  tell  me  all  about  it ! 
What  sent  you  here  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Nobody.  I  came,  aunt.  I  wanted  to 
see  the  place,  and  you." 

The  rough  eyebrows  were  bent  keenly  across  the  table. 

"  Hum !  "  breathed  Aunt  Henderson,  a  little  doubt- 
ful, and  very  much  puzzled. 

Then  Faith  asked  the  news  in  Kinnicutt,  and  told 
of  home  matters,  what  people  usually  tell,  and  consider 
that  they  have  given  account  of  themslves.  Aunt  Hen- 


92  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

derson's  questions  were  few.  She  cared  little  for  out- 
side commonplace,  and  there  was  small  interior  sym- 
pathy between  her  ideas  and  those  that  governed  the 
usual  course  of  affairs  in  Hickory  Street.  Fond  of 
her  nephew  and  his  family,  after  her  fashion,  notwith- 
standing Faith's  old  rebellion,  and  all  other  differences, 
she  certainly  was;  but  they  went  their  way,  and  she 
hers.  She  felt  pretty  sure  theirs  would  sooner  or  later 
come  to  a  turning;  and  when  that  should  happen, 
whether  she  should  meet  them  round  the  corner,  or 
not,  would  depend.  Her  path  would  need  to  bend  a 
little,  and  theirs  to  make  a  pretty  sharp  angle,  first. 

But  here  was  Faith  cutting  across  lots  to  come  to 
her!  Aunt  Henderson  put  away  her  loaf-cake  in  the 
cupboard,  set  back  her  chair  against  the  wall  in  its 
invariable  position  of  disuse,  and  departed  to  the  milk- 
room  and  kitchen  for  her  evening  duty  and  oversight. 

Glory's  hands  were  busy  in  the  bread-bowl,  and  her 
brain  kneading  its  secret  thoughts  that  no  one  knew  or 
intermeddled  with. 

Faith  sat  at  the  open  window  of  the  little  tea-room, 
and  watched  the  young  moon's  golden  horn  go  down  be- 
hind the  earth-rim  among  the  purple,  like  a  flamy 
flower-bud  floating  over,  and  so  lost. 

And  the  three  lives  gathered  in  to  themselves,  sepa- 
rately, whatsoever  the  hour  brought  to  each. 

At  nine  o'clock  Aunt  Faith  came  in,  took  down  the 
great  leather-bound  Bible  from  the  corner  shelf,  and 
laid  it  on  the  table.  Glory  appeared,  and  seated  herself 
beside  the  door. 

For  a  few  moments,  the  three  lives  met  in  the  One 
Great  Life  that  overarches  and  includes  humanity. 
Miss  Henderson  read  from  the  sixth  chapter  of  St. 
John. 

They  were  fed  with  the  five  thousand. 


FAITH   GARTNETS   GIRLHOOD.  93 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A    BECONNOISSANCE. 

«'  Then  said  his  Lordship, '  Well  God  mend  all ! '  '  Nay,  Donald, 
we  must,  help  Him  to  mend  it,'  said  the  other." — Quoted  by 
CARLYLE. 

"  Oh,  leave  these  jargons,  and  go  your  way  straight  to  God's 
work  in  simplicity  and  singleness  of  heart ! " — Miss  NIGHTINGALE. 

"  AUNTIE,"  said  Faith,  next  morning,  when,  after 
some  exploring,  she  had  discovered  Miss  Henderson  in 
a  little  room,  the  very  counterpart  of  the  one  she  had 
had  her  tea  in  the  night  before,  only  that  this  opened 
to  the  southeast,  and  hailed  the  morning  sun,  as  that  had 
taken  in  its  setting, — "  Auntie,  will  you  go  over  with 
me  to  the  Cross  Corners  house,  after  breakfast?  It's 
empty,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  empty.  But  it's  no  great  show  of  a  house. 
What  do  you  want  to  see  it  for  ?  " 

"Why,  it  used  to  be  so  pretty,  there.  I'd  like  just 
to  go  into  it.  Have  you  heard  of  anybody  wanting 
it  yet  ?  " 

"  No ;  and  I  guess  nobody's  likely  to,  for  one  while. 
Folks  don't  make  many  changes,  out  here." 

"  What  a  bright  little  breakfast-room  this  is,  auntie ! 
And  how  grand  you  are  to  have  a  room  for  every 
meal!" 

"  It  ain't  for  the  grandeur  of  it.  But  I  always  did 
like  to  follow  the  sun  round.  For  the  most  part  of 


94  FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

the  year,  at  any  rate.  And  this  is  just  as  near  the 
kitchen  as  the  other.  Besides,  I  kind  of  hate  to  shut 
up  any  of  the  rooms,  altogether.  They  were  all  wanted, 
once ;  and  now  I'm  all  alone  in  'em." 

For  Miss  Henderson,  this  was  a  great  opening  of 
the  heart.  But  she  didn't  go  on  to  say  that  the  little 
west  room  had  been  her  young  brother's,  who  long 
ago,  when  he  was  just  ready  for  his  Master's  work  in 
this  world,  had  been  called  up  higher;  and  that  her 
evening  rest  was  sweeter,  and  her  evening  reading  hol- 
ier for  being  holden  there;  or  that  here,  in  the  sunny 
morning  hours,  her  life  seemed  almost  to  roll  back  its 
load  of  many  years,  and  to  set  her  down  beside  her 
mother's  knee,  and  beneath  her  mother's  gentle  tute- 
lage, once  more ;  that  on  the  little  "  light-stand "  in 
the  corner  by  the  fireplace  stood  the  self-same  basket 
that  had  been  her  mother's  then, — just  where  she  had 
kept  it,  too,  when  it  was  running  over  with  little  frocks 
and  stockings  that  were  always  waiting  finishing  or 
mending, — and  now  held  only  the  plain  gray  knitting- 
work  and  the  bit  of  sewing  that  Aunt  Faith  might  have 
in  hand. 

A  small,  square  table  stood  now  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  with  a  fresh  brown  linen  breakfast-cloth  upon 
it;  and  Glory,  neat  and  fresh,  also,  with  her  brown 
spotted  calico  dress  and  apron  of  the  same,  came  in 
smiling  like  a  very  goddess  of  peace  and  plenty,  with 
the  steaming  coffee-pot  in  one  hand,  and  the  plate  of 
fine,  white  rolls  in  the  other.  The  yellow  print  of 
butter  and  some  rounds  from  a  brown  loaf  were  already 
on  the  table.  Glory  brought  in,  presently,  the  last 
addition  to  the  meal, — six  eggs,  laid  yesterday,  the 
water  of  their  boiling  just  dried  off,  and  modestly  took 
her  own  seat  at  the  lower  end  of  the  board. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  95 

Aunt  Faith,  living  alone,  kept  to  the  kindly  old 
country  fashion  of  admitting  her  handmaid  to  the  table 
with  herself.  "  Why  not  ?  "  she  would  say.  "  In  the 
first  place,  why  should  we  keep  the  table  about,  half  an 
hour  longer  than  we  need  ?  And  I  suppose  hot  cakes 
and  coffee  are  as  much  nicer  than  cold,  for  one  body 
ns  another.  Then  where's  the  sense?  We  take  Bible- 
meat  together.  Must  we  be  more  dainty  about  'meat 
that  perisheth  ?  '  So  her  argument  climbed  up  from 
its  lower  reason  to  its  climax. 

Glory  had  little  of  the  Irish  now  about  her  but  her 
name.  And  all  that  she  retained  visibly  of  the  Roman 
faith  she  had  been  born  to,  was  her  little  rosary  of 
colored  shells,  strung  as  beads,  that  had  been  blessed  by 
the  Pope. 

Miss  Henderson  had  trained  and  fed  her  in  her  own 
ways,  and  with  such  food  as  she  partook  herself,  physi- 
cally and  spiritually.  Glory  sat,  every  Sunday,  in 
the  corner  pew  of  the  village  church,  by  her  mistress's 
side.  And  this  church-going  being  nearly  all  that  she 
had  ever  had,  she  took  in  the  nutriment  that  was  given 
her,  to  a  soul  that  recognized  it,  and  never  troubled 
itself  with  questions  as  to  one  truth  differing  from  an- 
other, or  no.  Indeed,  no  single  form  or  theory  could 
have  contained  the  "  credo  "  of  her  simple,  yet  complex, 
thought.  The  old  Catholic  reverence  clung  about  her 
still,  that  had  come  with  her  all  the  way  from  her  in- 
fancy, when  her  mother  and  grandmother  had  taught 
her  the  prayers  of  their  Church;  and  across  the  long 
interval  of  ignorance  and  neglect  flung  a  sort  of  cathe- 
dral light  over  what  she  felt  was  holy  now. 

Rescued  from  her  dim  and  servile  city  life, — brought 
out  into  the  light  and  beauty  she  had  mutely  longed 
for, — feeling  care  and  kindliness  about  her  for  the  long- 


96  FAITH    OARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

time  harshness  and  oppression  she  had  borne, — she  was 
like  a  spirit  newly  entered  into  heaven,  that  needs  no 
priestly  ministration  any  more.  Every  breath  drew  in 
a  life  and  teaching  purer  than  human  words. 

And  then  the  words  she  did  hear  were  Divine.  Miss 
Henderson  did  no  preaching, — scarcely  any  lip-teach- 
ing, however  brief.  She  broke  the  bread  of  life  God 
gave  her,  as  she  cut  her  daily  loaf  and  shared  it, — letting 
each  soul,  God  helping,  digest  it  for  itself. 

Glory  got  hold  of  some  old  theology,  too,  that  she 
could  but  fragmentarily  understand;  but  that  mingled 
itself, — as  all  we  gather  does  mingle,  not  uselessly, — 
with  her  growth.  She  found  old  books  among  Miss 
Henderson's  stores,  that  she  read  and  mused  on.  She 
trembled  at  the  warnings,  and  reposed  in  the  holy  com- 
forts of  Doddridge's  "  Rise  and  Progress,"  and  Bax- 
ter's "  Saint's  Rest."  -She  travelled  to  the  Holy  City, 
above  all,  with  Bunyan's  Pilgrim.  And  then,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  she  heard  the  simple  Christian  preaching 
of  an  old  and  simple  Christian  man.  Not  terrible, — 
but  earnest ;  not  mystical, — but  high ;  not  lax, — but 
liberal ;  and  this  fused  and  tempered  all. 

So  "  things  had  happened  "  for  Glory.  So  God  had 
cared  for  this,  his  child.  So,  according  to  His  own 
Will, — not  any  human  plan  or  forcing, — she  grew. 

Aunt  Faith  washed  up  the  breakfast-cups,  dusted 
and  "  set  to  rights  "  in  the  rooms  where,  to  the  young 
Faith's  eyes,  there  seemed  such  order  already  as  could 
not  be  righted,  made  up  a  nice  little  pudding  for  din- 
ner, and  then,  taking  down  her  shawl  and  silk  hood,  and 
putting  on  her  overshoes,  announced  herself  ready  for 
Cross  Corners. 

"  Though  it's  all  cross  corners  to  me,  child,  sure 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  97 

enough.  I  suppose  it's  none  of  my  business,  but  I  can't 
think  what  you're  up  to." 

"  ISTot  up  to  any  great  height,  yet,  aunty.  But  I'm 
growing,"  said  Faith,  merrily,  and  with  meaning  some- 
what beyond  the  letter. 

They  went  out  at  the  back  door,  which  opened  on  a 
little  foot-path  down  the  sudden  green  slope  behind, 
and  stretched  across  the  field,  diagonally,  to  a  bar-place 
and  stile  at  the  opposite  corner.  Here  the  roads  from 
five  different  directions  met  and  crossed,  which  gave  the 
locality  its  name. 

Opposite  the  stile  at  which  they  came  out,  across 
the  shady  lane  that  wound  down  from  the  Old  Road 
whereon  Miss  Henderson's  mansion  faced,  a  gateway 
in  a  white  palirg  that  ran  round  and  fenced  in  a  grassy 
door-yard,  overhung  with  pendent  branches  of  elms  and 
stouter  canopy  of  chestnuts,  let  them  in  upon  the  little 
"  Cross  Corners  Farm." 

The  house  stood  but  a  few  paces  back,  the  long, 
sweeping  tips  of  the  elm-boughs  kissing  its  roofs ;  and 
behind  it  swelled  a  ridge  of  land  so  wooded  over  with 
miscellaneous  growth  of  trees  and  shrub,  that  it  was 
like  the  entrance  to  a  forest.  The  uprising  of  the 
ground  filled  in  with  its  dark  coloring,  and  gave  an 
effect  of  density,  beside  cutting  off  all  view  between  or 
beyond  the  trees ;  so  that,  although  a  few  moments'  walk 
would  carry  one  over  and  through  it  all  into  the  clear 
and  cultivated  fields  beyond,  the  illusion  was  utter,  and 
very  charming. 

Faith  felt  it  so,  even  in  this  early  spring-time,  before 
the  grass  was  fully  green,  or  the  branches  draped  in  all 
their  summer  breadth  and  beauty. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Faith !  It's  just  as  lovely  as  ever !  I 
remember  that  path  up  the  hill,  among  the  trees,  so 
7 


98  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

well !  When  I  was  a  little  bit  of  a  girl,  and  nurse  and 
I  came  out  to  stay  with  you.  I  had  my  "  fairy  house  " 
there.  I'd  like  to  go  over  this  minute,  only  that  we 
shan't  have  time.  How  shall  we  get  in?  Where  is 
the  key  ? 

"  It's  in  my  pocket.  But  it  mystifies  me,  what  you 
want  there." 

"  I  want  to  look  out  of  all  the  windows,  auntie,  to 
begin  with." 

Aunt   Faith's   mystification   was  not  lessened. 

The  front  door  opened  on  a  small,  square  hall,  with 
doors  to  right  and  left.  Opposite,  went  up  the  narrow 
staircase.  Narrow,  and  steep,  but  straight ;  lighted  by 
a  window  from  the  landing  at  its  head;  and  railed  at 
either  side  above,  to  give  passage  to  the  chambers  at 
the  front. 

The  room  on  the  left,  spite  of  the  bare  floor  and  fire- 
less  hearth,  was  warm  with  the  spring  sunshine  that 
came  pouring  in  at  the  south  windows.  Beyond  this, 
embracing  the  corner  of  the  house  rectangularly,  pro- 
jected an  equally  sunny  and  cheery  kitchen ;  at  the  right 
of  which,  communicating  with  both  apartments,  was 
divided  off  a  tiny  tea-and-breakfast-room.  So  Faith 
mentally  decided  it,  though  it  had  very  likely  been  a 
bedroom.  This  looked  northerly,  however,  and  would 
seem  pleasanter,  doubtless,  in  Jiily;  though  the  high 
ridge  that  trended  north  and  easterly  behind,  sheltered 
the  whole  house  in  comparative  comfort,  even  from  De- 
cember gales. 

From  the  entrance  hall  at  the  right  opened  a  room 
larger  than  either  of  the  others, — so  large  that  the 
floor  above  afforded  two  bedrooms  over  it, — and  having, 
beside  its  windows  south  and  east,  a  door  in  the 
farther  corner  beyond  the  chimney,  that  gave  out  di- 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  99 

rectly  upon  the  grassy  slope,  and  looked  up  the  path 
among  the  trees  that  crossed  the  ridge. 

Faith  drew  the  bolt  and  opened  it,  expecting  to  find 
a  closet  or  a  passage  somewhither.  She  fairly  started 
back  with  surprise  and  delight.  And  then  seated  her- 
self plump  upon  the  threshold,  with  her  feet  on  the 
flat  flag-stone  before  it,  and  went  into  a  midsummer 
dream. 

"  Oh,  auntie !  "  she  cried,  at  her  waking,  presently, 
"  was  ever  anything  so  perfect  ?  To  think  of  being 
let  out  so!  Bight  from  a  regular,  proper  parlor,  into 
the  woods !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  go  up  stairs  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Hen- 
derson, with  a  vague  amaze  in  her  look  that  seemed  to 
question  whether  her  niece  had  not  possibly  been  "  let 
out  "  from  her  "  regular  and  proper  "  wits ! 

Whereupon  Faith  scrambled  up  from  her  seat  upon 
the  sill,  and  hurried  off  to  investigate  and  explore 
above. 

Miss  Henderson  closed  the  door,  pushed  the  bolt,  and 
followed  quietly  after. 

It  was  a  funny  little  pantomime  that  Faith  enacted 
then,  for  the  further  bewilderment  of  the  staid  old 
lady. 

Darting  from  one  chamber  to  another,  with  an  inex- 
plicable look  of  business  and  consideration  in  her  face, 
that  contrasted  comically  with  her  quick  movements 
and  her  general  air  of  glee,  she  would  take  her  stand 
in  the  middle  of  each  one  in  turn,  and  wheeling  round 
to  get  a  swift  panoramic  view  of  outlook  and  capabili- 
ties, would  end  by  a  succession  of  mysterious  and  appar- 
ently satisfied  little  nods,  as  if  at  each  pause  some  point 
of  plan  or  arrangement  had  settled  itself  in  her  mind. 

"  Aunt  Faith !  "  cried  she,  suddenly,  as  she  came 


100  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

out  upon  the  landing  when  she  had  peeped  into  the 
last  corner,  and  found  Miss  Henderson  on  the  point  of 
making  her  descent, — "  what  sort  of  a  thing  do  you 
think  it  would  be  for  us  to  come  here  and  live  ?  " 

Aunt  Faith  sat  down  now  as  suddenly,  in  her  turn, 
on  the  stair-head.  Recovering,  so,  from  her  momen- 
tary and  utter  astonishment,  and  taking  in,  during 
that  instant  of  repose,  the  full  drift  of  the  question 
propounded,  she  rose  from  her  involuntary  assumed  po- 
sition, and  continued  her  way  down, — answering,  with- 
out so  much  as  turning  her  head, — "  It  would  be  just 
the  most  sensible  thing  that  Henderson  Gartney  ever  did 
in  his  life!" 

What  made  Faithie  a  bit  sober,  all  at  once,  when  the 
key  was  turned,  and  they  passed  on,  out  under  the 
elms,  into  the  lane  again  ? 

Did  you  ever  project  a  very  wise  and  important 
scheme,  that  involves  a  little  self-sacrifice,  which,  by  a 
determined  looking  at  the  bright  side  of  the  subject, 
you  had  managed  tolerably  to  ignore ;  and  then,  by  the 
instant  and  unhesitating  acquiescence  of  some  one  to 
whose  judgment  you  submitted  it,  find  yourself  sud- 
denly wheeled  about  in  your  own  mind  to  the  stand- 
point whence  you  discerned  only  the  difficulty  again  ? 

"  There's  one  thing,  Aunt  Faith,"  said  she,  as  they 
slowly  walked  up  the  field-path ;  "  I  couldn't  go  to 
school  any  more." 

Faith  had  discontinued  her  regular  attendance  since 
the  recommencement  for  the  year,  but  had  gone  in  for 
a  few  hours  on  "  French  and  German  days." 

"  There's  another  thing,"  said  Aunt  Faith.  I  don't 
believe  your  father  can  afford  to  send  you  any  more. 
You're  eighteen,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be,  this  summer." 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  101 

"  Time  for  you  to  leave  off  school.  Bring  your  books 
and  thinks  along  with  you.  You'll  have  chance  enough 
to  study." 

Faith  hadn't  thought  much  of  herself  before.  But 
when  she  found  her  aunt  didn't  apparently  think  of  her 
at  all,  she  began  to  realize  keenly  all  that  she  must 
silently  give  up. 

"  But  it's  a  good  deal  of  help,  auntie,  to  study  with 
other  people.  And  then — we  shouldn't  have  any  society 
out  here.  I  don't  mean  for  the  sake  of  parties,  and 
going  about.  But  for  the  improvement  of  it.  I 
shouldn't  like  to  be  shut  out  from  cultivated  people." 

"  Faith  Gartney !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Henderson,  fac- 
ing about  in  the  narrow  footway,  "  don't  you  go  to 
being  fine  and  transcendental!  If  there's  one  word  I 
despise  more  than  another,  in  the  way  folks  use  it  now- 
a-days, — it's  c  Culture ! '  As  if  God  didn't  know  how 
to  make  souls  grow!  You  just  take  root  where  He 
puts  you,  and  go  to  work,  and  live !  He'll  take  care  of 
the  cultivating!  If  He  means  you  to  turn  out  a  rose, 
or  an  oak-tree,  you'll  come  to  it.  And  pig-weed's  pig- 
weed, no  matter  where  it  starts  up !  " 

"  Aunt  Faith !  "  replied  the  child,  humbly  and  ear- 
nestly, "  I  believe  that's  true !  And  I  believe  I  want 
the  country  to  grow  in!  But  the  thing  will  be,"  she 
added,  a  little  doubtfully,  "  to  persuade  father." 

"  Don't  he  want  to  come,  then  ?  Whose  plan  is  it, 
pray  ?  "  asked  Miss  Henderson,  stopping  short  again, 
just  as  she  had  resumed  her  walk,  in  a  fresh  surprise. 

"  Nobody's  but  mine,  yet,  auntie !  I  haven't  asked 
him,  but  I  thought  I'd  come  and  look." 

"  Miss  Henderson  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  looked 
steadfastly  in  her  dark,  earnest  eyes. 


102  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  You're  something,  sure  enough !  "  said  she,  with  a 
sharp  tenderness. 

Faith  didn't  know  precisely  what  she  meant,  except 
that  she  seemed  to  mean  approval.  And  at  the  one 
word  of  appreciation,  all  difficulty  and  self-sacrifice 
vanished  out  of  her  sight,  and  everything  brightened  to 
her  thought,  again,  till  her  thought  brightened  out  into 
a  smile. 

"  What  a  sky-full  of  lovely  white  clouds !  "  she  said, 
looking  up  to  the  pure,  fleecy  folds  that  were  flittering 
over  the  blue.  "  We  can't  see  that  in  Mishaumok !  " 

"  She's  just  heavenly !  "  said  Glory  to  herself,  stand- 
ing at  the  back  door,  and  gazing  with  a  rapturous  ad- 
miration at  Faith's  upturned  face.  "  And  the  dinner's 
all  ready,  and  I'm  thankful,  and  more,  that  the  custard's 
baked  so  beautiful !  " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DEVELOPMENT. 

"  Sits  the  wind  in  that  corner  ?  " 

MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 

"  For  courage  mounteth  with  occasion." 

KING  JOHN. 

THE  lassitude  that  comes  with  spring  had  told  upon 
Mr.  Gartney.  He  had  dyspepsia,  too ;  and  now  and  then 
came  home  early  from  the  counting-room  with  a  head- 
ache that  sent  him  to  his  bed.  Dr.  Gracie  dropped  in, 
friendly-wise,  of  an  evening, — said  little  that  was 
strictly  professional, — but  held  his  hand  a  second 
longer,  perhaps,  than  he  would  have  done  for  a  mere 


FAITH    GAHTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  1Q3 

greeting,  and  looked  rather  scrutinizingly  at  him  when 
Mr.  Gartney's  eyes  were  turned  another  way.  Fre- 
quently he  made  some  slight  suggestion  of  a  journey, 
or  other  summer  change. 

"  You  must  urge  it,  if  you  can,  Mrs.  Gartney,"  he 
said,  privately,  to  the  wife.  "  I  don't  quite  like  his 
looks.  Get  him  away  from  business,  at  almost  any 
sacrifice,"  he  came  to  add,  at  last. 

"  At  every  sacrifice  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gartney,  anxious 
and  perplexed.  "  Business  is  nearly  all,  you  know." 

"  Life  is  more, — reason  is  more,"  answered  the  doc- 
tor, gravely. 

And  the  wife  went  about  her  daily  task  with  a  secret 
heaviness  at  her  heart. 

"  Father,"  said  Faith,  one  evening,  after  she  had  read 
to  him  the  paper  while  he  lay  resting  upon  the  sofa, 
"  if  you  had  money  enough  to  live  on,  how  long  would  it 
take  you  to  wind  up  your  business  ?  " 

"  It's  pretty  nearly  wound  up  now !  But  what's  the 
use  of  asking  such  a  question  ?  "  answered  her  father, 
turning  his  head  away,  somewhat  fretfully. 

"  Because,"  said  Faith,  timidly,  "  I've  got  a  little 
plan  in  my  head,  if  you'll  only  listen  to  it." 

A  pause.  Faith  hardly  knew  whether  to  venture  on, 
or  not. 

Presently  the  head  came  round  again,  and  the  eyes 
met  hers,  with  a  look  that  was  a  little  surprised,  yet 
wistful  and  kindly,  also. 

"  Well,  Faithie,  I'll  listen.    What  is  it  ?  " 

And  then  Faith  spoke  it  all  out,  at  once. 

"  That  you  should  give  up  all  your  business,  father, 
and  let  this  house,  and  go  to  Cross  Corners,  and  live 
at  the  farm." 

Mr.  Gartney  started  to  his  elbow.    But  a  sudden  pain 


104  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

that  leaped  in  his  temples  sent  him  back  again.  For 
a  minute  or  so,  he  did  not  speak  at  all.  Then  he  said, — 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  are  talking  of,  daughter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father ;  I've  been  thinking  it  over  a  good  while, 
— since  the  night  we  wrote  down  these  things." 

And  she  drew  from  her  pocket  the  memorandum  of 
stocks  and  dividends. 

"  You  see  you  have  six  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
a  year  from  these,  and  this  house  would  be  six  hun- 
dred more,  and  mother  says  she  can  manage  on  that,  in 
the  country,  if  I  will  help  her." 

A  simple  wording  of  a  simple  conclusion.  But  it 
told  a  great  deal. 

Mr.  Gartney  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Not 
wholly,  perhaps,  to  shield  them  from  the  light. 

"  You're  a  good  girl,  Faithie,"  said  he,  presently ; 
and  there  was  assuredly  a  little  tremble  in  his  voice. 

"  And  so,  you  and  your  mother  have  talked  it  over, 
together  ? " 

"  Yes ;  often,  lately.  And  she  said  I  had  better  ask 
you  myself,  if  I  wished  it.  She  is  perfectly  willing. 
She  thinks  it  would  be  good." 

"  Faithie,"  said  her  father,  "  you  make  me  feel,  more 
than  ever,  how  much  I  ought  to  do  for  you !  " 

"  You  ought  to  get  well  and  strong,  father, — that  is 
all !  "  replied  Faith,  with  a  quiver  in  her  own  voice, 
this  time. 

Mr.  Gartney  sighed. 

"  I'm  no  more  than  a  mere  useless  block  of  wood !  " 
said  he,  despondingly. 

"  We  shall  just  have  to  set  you  up,  and  make  an  idol 
of  you,  then !  "  cried  Faith,  cheerily,  with  tears  on  her 
eyelashes,  that  she  winked  off,  and  forbade  to  be  fol- 
lowed, 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  1Q5 

There  had  been  a  ring  at  the  bell  while  they  were 
speaking;  and  now  Mrs.  Gartney  entered,  followed  by 
Dr.  Gracie. 

"  Well,  Miss  Faith,"  said  the  doctor,  after  the  usual 
greetings,    and    a    prolonged   look    at   Mr.    Gartjney's 
flushed  face,  and  an  injunction  to  him,  as  he  was  rising, 
to  keep  quiet, — "  what  have  you  done  to  your  father,  to- 
night?" 

"  I've  been  reading  the  paper,"  answered  Faith, 
quietly,  "  and  talking  a  little." 

"  Mother !  "  said  Mr.  Gartney,  catching  his  wife's 
hand,  as  she  came  round  to  find  a  seat  near  him,  "  are 
you  really  in  the  plot,  too  ?  " 

"  I'm  glad  there  is  a  plot,"  said  the  doctor,  quickly, 
glancing  round  with  a  keen  inquiry.  "  It's  time !  " 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Gartney.  "  Are 
you  in  a  hurry  to  lose  your  patient  ? " 

"Depends  upon  Tiow!"  replied  the  doctor,  touching 
the  truth  in  a  jest. 

"  This  is  how.  Here's  a  little  jade  who  has  the  con- 
ceit and  audacity  to  propose  to  me  to  wind  up  my  busi- 
ness, (as  if  she  understood  the  whole  process!)  and  let 
my  house,  and  go  to  my  farm  at  Cross  Corners.  What 
do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  the  most  sensible  thing  you 
ever  did  in  your  life !  " 

"  Just  exactly  what  Aunt  Henderson  said !  "  cried 
Faith,  exultant. 

"  Aunt  Faith,  too !  The  conspiracy  thickens !  How 
long  has  all  this  been  discussing?"  continued  Mr. 
Gartney,  fairly  roused,  and  springing,  despite  the  doc- 
tor's request,  to  a  sitting  position,  throwing  off,  as  he 
did  so,  the  Aifghan  Faith  had  laid  over  his  feet. 

"  There  hasn't  been  much  discussion,"  said  Faith. 


106  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  Only  when  I  went  out  to  Kinnicutt  I  got  auntie  to 
show  me  the  house ;  and  I  asked  her  how  she  thought  it 
would  be  if  we  were  to  do  such  a  thing,  and  she  said 
just  what  Dr.  Gracie  has  said  now.  And,  father, "- 
she  continued, — "  you  don't  know  how  beautiful  it  is 
there!" 

"  So  you  really  want  to  go  ?  and  it  isn't  drumsticks  ?  " 
queried  the  doctor,  turning  round  to  Faith. 

"  Some  drumsticks  are  very  nice,"  said  Faith. 

"  Gartney !  "  said  Dr.  Gracie,  u  you'd  better  mind 
what  this  girl  of  yours  says.  She's  worth  attending  to." 

The  wedge  had  been  entered,  and  Faith's  hand  had 
driven  it. 

The  plan  was  taken  into  consideration.  Of  course, 
such  a  change  could  not  be  made  without  some  ponder- 
ing ;  but  when  almost  the  continual  thought  of  a  family 
is  concentrated  upon  a  single  subject,  a  good  deal  of 
pondering  and  deciding  can  be  done  in  three  weeks. 
At  the  end  of  that  time  an  advertisement  appeared  in 
the  leading  Mishaumok  papers,  offering  the  house  in 
Hickory  Street  to  be  let ;  and  Mrs.  Gartney  and  Faith 
were  busy  packing  boxes  to  go  to  Kinnicutt. 

Only  a  passing  shade  had  been  flung  on  the  project 
which  seemed  to  brighten  into  sunshine,  otherwise,  the 
more  they  looked  at  it,  when  Mrs.  Gartney  suddenly 
said,  after  a  long  "  talking  over,"  the  second  evening 
after  the  proposal  had  been  first  broached, — 

"  But  what  will  Saidie  say  ?  " 

Now  Saidie, — whom  before  it  has  been  unnecessary 
to  mention, — was  Faith's  elder  sister,  travelling  at  this 
moment  in  Europe,  with  a  wealthy  elder  sister  of  Mrs. 
Gartney. 

"  I  never  thought  of  Saidie,"  cried  Faith. 

Saidie  was  pretty  sure  not  to  like  Kinnicutt.     A 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  107 

young  lady,  educated  at  a  fashionable  New  York  school, 
— petted  by  an  aunt  who  found  nobody  else  to  pet,  and 
who  had  money  enough  to  have  petted  a  whole  asylum 
of  orphans, — who  had  shone  in  London  and  Paris  for 
two  seasons  past, — was  not  exceedingly  likely  to  discover 
all  the  possible  delights  that  Faith  had  done,  under  the 
elms  and  chestnuts  at  Cross  Corners. 

But,  after  all,  this  could  make  no  practicl  difference. 

"  She  wouldn't  like  Hickory  Street  any  better,"  said 
Faith,  "  if  we  couldn't  have  parties  or  new  furniture 
any  more.  And  she's  only  a  visitor,  at  the  best.  Aunt 
Etherege  will  be  sure  to  have  her  in  New  York,  or 
travelling  about,  ten  months  out  of  twelve.  She  can 
come  to  us  in  June  and  October.  I  guess  she'll  like 
strawberries  and  cream,  and — whatever  comes  at  the 
other  season,  besides  red  leaves." 

Now  this  was  kind,  sisterly  consideration  of  Faith, 
however  little  so  it  seems,  set  down.  It  was  very  cer- 
tain that  no  more  acceptable  provision  could  be  made  for 
Saidie  Gartney  in  the  family  plan,  than  to  leave  her 
out,  except  where  the  strawberries  and  cream  were  con- 
cerned. In  return,  she  wrote  gay,  entertaining  letters 
home  to  her  mother  and  young  sister,  and  sent  pretty 
French,  or  Florentine,  or  Roman  ornaments  for  them  to 
wear.  Some  persons  are  content  to  go  through  life 
with  such  exchange  of  sympathies  as  this. 

By-and-by,  Faith  being  in  her  own  room,  took  out 
from  her  letter-box  the  last  missive  from  abroad.  There 
was  something  in  this  which  vexed  Faith,  and  yet 
stirred  her  a  little,  obscurely,  aside  from  the  mere  vexa- 
tion. 

All  things  are  fair  in  love,  war,  and — story-books  I 
So,  though  she  would  never  have  shown  the  words  to 


108  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

you  or  me,  we  will  peep  over  her  shoulder,  and  Bhare 
them,  "  en  rapport." 

"  And  Paul  Rushleigh,  it  seems,  is  as  much  as  ever 
in  Hickory  Street!  Well — my  little  Faithie  might 
make  a  far  worse  '  parti '  than  that !  Tell  papa  I  think 
he  may  be  satisfied  there !  " 

Faith  would  have  cut  off  her  little  finger,  rather  than 
.have  had  her  father  dream  that  such  a  thing  had  been 
put  into  her  head !  But  unfortunately  it  was  there,  now, 
and  could  not  be  helped.  She  could  only, — sitting  there 
in  her  chamber  window  with  the  blood  tingling  to  the 
hair  upon  her  temples,  as  if  from  every  neighboring 
window  of  the  clustering  houses  about  her,  eyes  could 
overlook  and  read  what  she  was  reading  now, — "  wish 
that  Saidie  would  not  write  such  things  as  that !  "  And 
then  wonder  how  she  or  her  mother  could  possibly  have 
said  so  much  about  their  young  visitor  as  to  have  brought 
so  unreserved  a  deduction  upon  her  from  across  the  At- 
lantic. . 

For  all  that,  it  was  one  pleasant  thing  Faith  would 
have  to  lose  in  leaving  Mishaumok.  It  was  very 
agreeable  to  have  him  dropping  in,  with  his  gay  college 
gossip ;  and  to  dance  the  "  German  "  with  the  nicest 
partner  in  the  Monday  class;  and  to  carry  the  flowers 
he  so  often  sent  her.  Had  she  done  things  greater  than 
she  knew  in  shutting  her  eyes  resolutely  to  all  her  city 
associations  and  enjoyments,  and  urging,  for  her  father's 
sake,  this  exodus  into  the  desert  ? 

Only  that  means  were  actually  wanting  to  continue 
on  as  they  were,  and  that  health  must  at  any  rate  be 
first  striven  for  as  a  condition  to  the  future  enlarge- 
ment of  means,  her  father  and  mother,  in  their  thought 
for  what  their  child  hardly  considered  for  herself, 
would  surely  have  been  more  difficult  to  persuade.  They 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

hoped  that  a  summer's  rest  might  enable  Mr.  Gartney  to 
undertake  again  some  sort  of  lucrative  business,  after 
business  should  have  revived  from  its  present  prostra- 
tion; and  that  a  year  or  two,  perhaps,  of  economizing 
in  the  country,  might  make  it  possible  for  them  to  re- 
turn, if  they  chose,  to  the  house  in  Hickory  Street. 

There  were  leave-takings  to  be  gone  through, — ques- 
tions to  be  answered,  and  reasons  to  be  given ;  for  Mrs. 
Gartney,  the  polite  wishes  of  her  visiting  friends  that 
"  Mr.  Gartney's  health  might  allow  them  to  return  to 
the  city  in  the  winter,"  with  the  wonder,  unexpressed, 
whether  this  were  to  be  a  final  break-down  of  the  family, 
or  not ;  and  for  Faith,  the  horror  and  extravagant  lam- 
entations of  her  young  coterie,  at  her  coming  occulta- 
tion — or  setting,  rather,  out  of  their  sky. 

Paul  Rushleigh  demanded  eagerly  if  there  weren't 
any  sober  old  minister  out  there,  with  whom  he  might 
be  rusticated  for  his  next  college  prank,  which  he 
would  contrive  with  nice  adaptation  for  the  express  pur- 
pose. 

Everybody  promised  to  come  as  far  as  Kinnicutt 
"  sometime  "  to  see  them ;  the  good-byes  were  all  said  at 
last ;  the  city  cook  had  departed,  and  a  woman  had  been 
taken  in  her  place  who  "  had  no  objections  to  the  coun- 
try ;  "  and  on  one  of  the  last  bright  days  of  May  they 
skimmed,  steam-sped,  over  the  intervening  country  be- 
tween the  brick-and-stone-encrusted  hills  of  Mishaumok 
and  the  fair  meadow  reaches  of  Kinnicutt ;  and  so  dis- 
appeared out  of  the  places  that  had  known  them  so  long, 
and  could  yet,  alas!  do  so  exceedingly  well  without 
them. 

By  the  first  of  June  nobody  in  the  great  city  remem- 
bered, or  remembered  very  seriously  to  regard,  the 
little  gap  that  had  been  made  in  its  midst. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

.  Do  the  cloven  waters  stand  a-gape  for  the  little  dip- 
perfull  of  drops  that  may  be  drawn  out  from  among 
them? 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  DRIVE   WITH   THE   DOCTOR. 

"  And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June? 

Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days ; 
Then  heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 
And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays." 

LOWELL. 

"  All  lives  have  their  prose  translation  as  well  as  their  ideal 
meaning."  CHARLES  AUCHESTER. 

BUT  Kinnicutt  opened  wider  to  receive  them  than 
Mishaumok  had  to  let  them  go. 

If  Mr.  Gartney's  invalidism  had  to  be  pleaded  to  get 
away  with  dignity,  it  was  even  more  needed  to  shield 
with  anything  of  quietness  their  entrance  into  the  new 
sphere  they  had  chosen. 

It  is  astonishing  how  wide  the  circuit  of  neighborhood 
is  in  and  around  a  centre  of  bucolic  life.  The  embrace 
widens  with  the  horizon.  Where  brick  walls  shut  away 
the  vision,  the  thickness  of  a  brick  shuts  out  all  knowl- 
edge. But  with  the  sweep  of  the  far  hills,  and  the  up- 
arching  blue,  comes  a  human  relationship  that  takes  in 
all  the  hills  include — all  that  the  blue  looks  down  upon. 
It  is  everybody's  business  to  find  out  everybody,  and  to 
know  just  how  everybody  is  "  getting  along." 

"  Faith,  with  her  young  adaptability,  found  great 
fund  or  entertainment  in  the  new  social  developments 
that  unfolded  themselves  at  Cross  Corners. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

All  sorts  of  quaint  vehicles  drove  up  under  the  elms 
in  the  afternoon  visiting  hours,  day  after  day, — hitched 
horses,  and  unladed  passengers.  Both  doctors  and  their 
wives  came  promptly,  of  course ;  the  "  old  doctor  "  from 
the  village,  and  the  "  young  doctor "  from  "  over  at 
Lakeside."  Quiet  Mrs.  Holland  walked  in  at  the  twi- 
light, by  herself,  one  day,  to  explain  that  her  husband, 
the  minister,  was  too  unwell  to  visit,  and  to  say  her 
pleasant,  unpretentious  words  of  welcome.  Square 
Leatherbee's  daughters  made  themselves  fine  in  lilac 
silks  and  green  Estella  shawls,  to  offer  acquaintance  to 
the  new  "  city  people."  Aunt  Faith  came  over,  once 
or  twice  a  week,  at  times  when  "  nobody  else  would  be 
round  under  foot,"  and  always  with  some  dainty  offer- 
ing from  dairy,  garden,  or  kitchen.  At  other  hours, 
Glory  was  fain  to  seize  all  opportunity  of  errands  that 
Miss  Henderson  could  not  do,  and  irradiate  the  kitchen, 
lingeringly,  until  she  herself  might  be  more  ecstatically 
irradiated  with  a  glance  and  smile  from  Miss  Faith, 
who  found  and  came  to  understand  that  whatever  might 
chance  to  bring  her  over,  her  aunt's  handmaid  would 
never  willingly  depart  without  a  return  message,  or  an 
inquiry  whether  "  there  was  any  message  to  send,  if 
she  pleased  ?  "  It  was  never  "  any  matter  about  the 
basket,"  and — "  oh,  dear !  she  didn't  wait  to  be  thanked, 
no  more  would  Miss  Henderson ;  "  but  what  she  did  wait 
for  hardly  appeared,  save  as  a  quick  kindliness  might 
divine  it,  seeing  that  she  had  no  sooner  got  her  thanks 
and  her  basket  from  Faith's  own  hand  and  lip,  than  she 
was  off,  shy  and  happy,  and  glorified  up  to  the  topmost 
wave  of  her  golden  locks. 

There  was  need  enough  of  Aunt  Faith's  ministra- 
tions during  these  first,  few,  unsettled  weeks.  The 
young  woman  who  "  had  no  objections  to  the  country," 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

objected  no  more  to  these  pleasant  country  fashions  of 
neighborly  kindness.  She  had  reason.  Aunt  Faith's 
"  thirds  bread,"  or  crisp  "  vanity  cakes,"  or  "  velvet 
creams,"  were  no  sooner  disposed  of  than  there  surely 
came  a  starvation  interval  of  sour  biscuits,  heavy  ginger- 
bread, and  tough  pie-crust,  and  dinners  feebly  cooked, 
with  no  attempt  at  desserts,  at  all. 

This  was  gloomy.  This  was  the  first  trial  of  their 
country  life.  Plainly,  this  cook  was  no  cook,  neither 
could  she  easily  be  replaced  with  a  better.  Mr.  Gart- 
ney's  dyspepsia  must  be  considered.  Kinnicutt  air  and 
June  sunshine  would  not  do  all  the  curative  work.  The 
healthy  appetite  they  stimulated  must  be  wholesomely 
supplied. 

Faith  took  to  the  kitchen.  To  Glory's  mute  and  rap- 
turous delight,  she  began  to  come  almost  daily  up  the 
field-path,  in  her  pretty  round  hat  and  morning  wrap- 
per, to  waylay  her  aunt  in  the  tidy  kitchen  at  the  early 
hour  when  her  cookery  was  sure  to  be  going  on,  to  ask 
questions  and  investigate,  and  "  help  a  little,"  and  then 
to  go  home  and  repeat  the  operation  as  nearly  as  she 
could  for  their  somewhat  later  dinner. 

"  Miss  McGonegal  seems  to  be  improving,"  observed 
Mr.  Gartney,  complacently,  one  day,  as  he  partook  of  a 
simple,  but  favorite  pudding,  nicely  flavored  and  com- 
pounded ;  "  or  is  this  a  charity  of  Aunt  Henderson's  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  his  wife,  "  it  is  home-manufacture," — 
and  she  glanced  at  Faith  without  dropping  her  tone  to 
a  period.  Faith  shook  her  head,  and  the  sentence  hung 
in  the  air,  unfinished. 

Mrs.  Gartney  had  not  been  strong,  for  years.  More- 
over, she  had  not  a  genius  for  cooking.  That  is  a  real 
gift,  as  much  as  a  genius  for  poetry  or  painting.  Faith 
was  finding  out,  suddenly,  that  she  had  it.  But  she 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

was  quite  willing  that  her  father  should  rest  in  the 
satisfactory  belief  that  Miss  McGonegalj  in  whom  it 
never,  by  any  possibility,  could  be  developed,  was  im- 
proving; and  that  the  good  things  that  found  their  way 
to  his  table  had  a  paid  and  permanent  origin.  He  was 
more  comfortable  so,  she  thought.  Meanwhile,  they 
would  inquire  if  the  region  round  about  Kinnicutt 
might  be  expected  to  afford  a  substitute. 

Dr.  Wasgatt's  wife  told  Mrs.  Gartney  of  a  young 
A.merican  woman  who  was  staying  in  the  "  factory 
village  "  beyond  Lakeside,  and  who  had  asked  her  hus- 
band if  he  knew  of  any  place  where  she  could  "  hire 
out."  Doctor  Wasgatt  would  be  very  glad  to  take  her 
or  Miss  Faith  over  there,  of  a  morning,  to  see  if  she 
would  answer. 

Faith  was  very  glad  to  go. 

Doctor  Wasgatt  was  the  "  old  doctor."  A  benign 
man,  as  old  doctors, — when  they  don't  grow  contrari- 
wise, and  become  unspeakably  gruff  and  crusty, — are 
apt  to  be.  A  benign  old  doctor,  a  docile  old  horse,  an 
old-fashioned  two-wheeled  chaise  that  springs  to  the 
motion  like  a  bough  at  a  bird-flitting,  and  an  indescrib- 
able June  morning  wherein  to  drive  four  miles  and 
back, — well !  Faith  couldn't  help  exulting  in  her  heart 
that  they  wanted  a  cook. 

It  took  them  a  long  while  to  accomplish  the  four  miles, 
though.  It  was  lucky  the  first  dish  of  strawberries  was 
ready  in  the  ice,  for  dinner,  and  that  the  roast  lamb  of 
yesterday  was  to  be  eaten  cold  to-day,  and  that  Mahala 
had  promised  to  see  that  Norah  didn't  overboil  the  peas. 
Faith  was  free,  so,  to  enjoy  to  the  full  all  the  enchant- 
ment and  novelty  of  her  drive,  and  not  to  care  a  bit  if 
she  shouldn't  get  home  till  sunset. 

Doctor  Wasgatt  had  half-a-dozen  patients  to  see  be- 
8 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

tween  Cross  Corners  and  the  factory  village.  Half-a- 
dozen,  that  is,  that  he  had  known  of,  and  set  out  with 
intent  to  see;  and  half-a-dozen  more,  or  thereabouts,  to 
whom  he  was  summoned  by  waylayment.  A  woman 
standing  at  the  window  of  one  house  upon  the  road,  hold- 
ing a  pillow  by  the  end  between  her  teeth,  and  prepar- 
ing to  shake  it  into  its  case,  spied  his  chaise  with  the 
eye  she  had  kept  outward  for  the  purpose  all  the  morn- 
ing, and,  dropping  her  extraordinary  mouthful,  as  the 
raven  did  who  sang,  of  old,  to  the  fox,  hailed  him 
with  outstretched  head  and  sudden  cry.  And  then,  with 
the  overzeal  some  women  have  who  never  know  when  a 
thing  is  accomplished,  she  distrusted  the  force  of  a 
single  shot  across  his  bows,  and  seeing  that  he  appeared 
about  to  pass  the  gate, — which  was  really  that  he  might 
only  place  his  horse  and  his  companion  under  the  shade 
of  the  butternuts  beyond, — leaned  half  her  person  from 
the  window  and  fluttered  the  pillow-case  at  arm's  length 
at  him,  as  a  signal  to  lay  to.  Which,  at  the  moment,  he 
did;  leaving  Faith,  not  unwilling,  under  the  flickering 
shade  of  the  tall  trees;  breathing  in,  with  all  June 
balms  whereof  the  air  was  full,  the  spicy  smell  of  a  chip- 
yard  round  the  corner,  where  the  scraps  of  pine  lay 
fervid  and  fragrant  under  the  summer  sun. 

There  was  neither  sight,  nor  sound,  nor  odor,  this 
perfect  day,  but  seemed  an  addition  of  delight.  People 
were  picturesque,  even  though  they  held  feather-pillows 
between  their  teeth,  and  screamed  frantically  from 
chamber  windows.  The  joyous  and  bounteous  air  found 
no  utterance  so  discordant  that  it  could  not  take  into  its 
clear,  mellow  sweep,  and  soften  into  harmony.  The 
crow  that  flew  over  the  young  cornfields, — the  farmer 
hallooing  to  his  cattle, — the  creak  of  wagons, — all,  as 
really  as  the  bird-twitterings  that  rained,  pure  musical, 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

from  every  bough, — made  up  a  summer  melody  to- 
gether. Faith  couldn't  be  left  suddenly  anywhere,  to 
wait  while  Doctor  Wasgatt  dispensed  pills,  and  drops, 
and  powders,  where  it  wasn't  an  ecstasy  to  be. 

At  another  farm-house  dooryard,  an  urchin  had  had 
an  hour's  swing  on  the  otherwise  forbidden  gate,  that 
he  might,  by  that  means,  be  at  hand  to  "  stop  the  doc- 
tor." It  is  greatly  to  be  feared  that  "  grandma'am's 
bad  night "  had  hardly  been  deplored  with  a  due  sym- 
pathy, meanwhile. 

There  were  scarcely  any  other  patients,  in  truth,  to- 
day, among  them  all,  than  the  old,  who  were  "  kinder 
pulled  down  by  the  warm  spell,"  or  babies,  who  must 
cut  teeth,  and  consequently  worry,  though  the  earth  they 
had  scarcely  looked  upon  was  rioting  in  all  this  grow- 
ing joy,  cutting,  painless,  quick,  green  blades  of  life 
everywhere,  and  so  smiling  but  the  more  widely;  and 
two  or  three  consumptive  invalids,  who  must  soon  shut 
their  weary  eyes  upon  the  summer,  let  her  lavish  her- 
self gloriously  as  she  might.  What  others,  truly,  couW 
be  ill  in  June? 

The  way  was  very  lovely  toward  Lakeside,  and  across 
to  Factory  Village.  It  crossed  the  capricious  windings 
of  Wachaug  two  or  three  times  within  the  distance,  and 
then  bore  round  the  Pond  Road,  which  kept  its  old 
traditional  cognomen,  though  the  new  neighborhood 
that  had  grown  up  at  its  farther  bend  had  got  a  modern 
name,  and  the  beautiful  pond  itself  had  come  to  be 
known  with  a  legitimate  dignity  as  Lake  Wachaug. 

Graceful  birches,  with  a  spring,  and  a  joyous,  whis- 
pered secret  in  every  glossy  leaf,  leaned  over  the  road  to- 
ward the  water ;  and  close  down  to  its  ripples  grew  wild 
shrubs  and  flowers,  and  lush  grass,  and  lady-bracken, 
while  out  over  the  still  depths  rested  green  lily-pads, 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

like  floating  thrones  waiting  the  fair  water-queens  who, 
a  few  weeks  hence,  should  rise  to  claim  them.  Back, 
behind  the  birches,  reached  the  fringe  of  woodland  that 
melted  away,  presently,  in  the  sunny  pastures,  and  held 
in  bush  and  branch  hundreds  of  little  mother-birds, 
brooding  in  a  still  rapture,  like  separate  embodied  pulses 
of  the  Universal  Love,  over  a  coming  life  and  joy. 

Life  and  joy  were  everywhere.  A  thrill  came  up 
from  the  warm  earth,  where  insect  and  root  were  stirring 
at  its  every  pore,  and  the  whole  air  was  tremulous  with 
a  gentle  breath  and  motion.  The  sunlight  danced  and 
shimmered  downward  through  the  sky,  as  with  the  very 
overcharge  of  vitality  it  came  to  bring.  Faith's  heart 
danced  and  glowed  within  her.  She  had  thought,  many 
a  time  before,  that  she  was  getting  somewhat  of  the  joy 
of  the  country,  when,  after  dinner  and  business  were 
over,  she  had  come  out  from  Mishaumok,  in  proper 
fashionable  toilette,  with  her  father  and  mother,  for 
an  afternoon  airing  in  the  city  environs.  But  here,  in 
the  old  doctor's  "  one-hoss  shay,"  and  with  her  round 
straw  hat  and  chintz  wrapper  on,  she  was  finding  out 
what  a  rapturously  different  thing  it  is  to  go  out  into 
the  bountiful  morning,  and  identify  one's  self  there- 
with. 

She  had  almost  forgotten  that  she  had  any  other 
errand  when  they  turned  away  from  the  lake,  and  took  a 
little  side  road  that  wound  off  from  it,  and  struck  the 
river  again,  and  brought  them  at  last  to  the  Wachaug 
Mills  and  the  little  factory  settlement  around  them. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Pranker's,"  said  the  doctor,  stopping 
at  the  third  door  in  a  block  of  factory  houses,  "  and  it's 
a  sister-in-law  of  hers  who  wants  to  '  hire  out.'  I've  a 
patient  in  the  next  row,  and  if  you  like,  I'll  leave  you 
here  a  few  minutes." 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Faith's  foot  was  instantly  on  the  chaise-step,  and  she 
sprang  to  the  ground  with  only  an  acknowledging  touch 
of  the  good  doctor's  hand,  upheld  to  aid  her. 

A  white-haired  boy  of  three,  making  gravel  puddings 
in  a  scalloped  tin  dish  at  the  door,  scrambled  up  as  she 
approached,  upset  his  pudding,  and  sidled  up  the  steps 
in  a  scared  fashion,  with  a  finger  in  his  mouth,  and  his 
round  gray  eyes  sending  apprehensive  peeps  at  her 
through  the  linty  locks. 

"Well,  tow-head !"  ejaculated  an  energetic  female 
voice  within,  to  an  accompaniment  of  swashing  water, 
and  a  scrape  of  a  bucket  along  the  floor ;  "  what's  want- 
ing now  ?  Can't  you  stay  put,  nohow  2  " 

An  unintelligible  jargon  of  baby  chatter  followed, 
which  seemed,  however,  to  have  conveyed  an  idea  to  the 
mother's  mind,  for  she  appeared  immediately  in  the 
passage,  drying  her  wet  arms  upon  her  apron. 

"  Mrs.  Franker  ?  "  asked  Faith. 

"  That's  my  name,"  replied  the  woman,  as  who  should 
say,  peremptorily,  "  what  then  ?  " 

"  I  was  told — my  mother  heard — that  a  sister  of 
yours  was  looking  for  a  place." 

"  She  hain't  done  much  about  lookin'/'  was  the  reply, 
"  but  she  was  sayin'  she  didn't  know  but  what  she'd 
hire  out  for  a  spell,  if  anybody  wanted  her.  She's  in 
the  keepin'-room.  You  can  come  in  and  speak  to  her, 
if  you're  a  mind  to.  The  kitchen  floor's  wet.  I'm  jest 
a  washnr  of  it. — You  little  sperrit !  "  This  to  the 
child,  who  was  amusing  himself  with  the  floor-cloth 
which  he  had  fished  out  of  the  bucket,  and  held  up, 
dripping,  letting  a  stream  of  dirty  water  rim  down  the 
front  of  his  red  calico  frock.  "  If  children  ain't  the 
biggest  torments!  Talk  about  Job!  His  wife  had  to 
have  more  patience  than  he  did,  I'll  be  bound!  And 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

patience  ain't  any  use,  either !  The  more  you  have,  the 
more  you're  took  advantage  of !  I  declare  and  testify, 
it  makes  me  as  cross  as  sin,  jest  to  think  how  good- 
natured  I  be !  "  And  with  this,  she  snatched  the  cloth 
from  the  boy's  hands,  shook  first  him  and  then  his  frock, 
to  get  rid,  in  so  far  as  a  shake  might  accomplish  it,  of 
original  depravity  and  sandy  soapsuds,  and  carried  him, 
vociferant,  to  the  door,  where  she  set  him  down  to  the 
consolation  of  gravel-pudding  again. 

Meanwhile  Faith  crossed  the  sloppy  kitchen,  on  tip- 
toe, toward  an  open  door,  that  revealed  a  room  within. 

Here  a  very  fat  young  woman,  with  a  rather  pleasant 
face,  was  seated,  sewing,  in  a  rocking-chair,  her  elbows 
resting  on  the  arms  thereof,  and  her  work  held  up,  so, 
before  her,  while  her  feet,  visible  below  the  hem  of  her 
dress  at  a  rather  wide  interval  from  each  other,  were 
keeping  up,  by  a  slight,  regular  rebound  from  the  floor, 
an  easy  motion  that  seemed  not  at  all  to  interfere  with 
her  use  of  the  needle. 

She  did  not  rise,  or  move,  at  Faith's  entrance,  other- 
wise than  to  look  up,  composedly,  and  let  fall  her  arms 
along  those  of  the  chair,  retaining  the  needle  in  one 
hand  and  her  work  in  the  other. 

"  I  came  to  see,"  said  Faith, — obliged  to  say  some- 
thing to  explain  her  presence,  but  secretly  appalled  at 
the  magnitude  of  the  subject  she  had  to  deal  with, — 
"  if  you  wanted  a  place  in  a  family." 

"  Take  a  seat,"  said  the  young  woman. 

Faith  availed  herself  of  one,  and,  doubtful  precisely 
what  to  say  next,  waited  for  indications  from  the  other 
party. 

"  Well — I  was  calc'latin'  to  hire  out  this  summer, 
but  I  ain't  very  partic'ler  about  it,  neither." 

She  made  little  scratches,  indifferently,  on  the  end  of 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

the  chair-arm,  with  the  point  of  her  needle,  as  she  spoke, 
and  rubbed  them  out  with  the  moist  finger-tip  from 
which  she  had  slipped  her  thimble. 

"  Can  you  cook  ?  " 

*"  Most   kinds.      I    can't   do   much    fancy   eookin'. 
Guess  I  can  make  bread, — all  sorts, — and  roast,  and 
bile,  and  see  to  common  fixin's,  though,  as  well  as  the 
next  one !  " 

"  We  like  plain  country  cooking,"  said  Faith,  think- 
ing of  Aunt  Henderson's  delicious,  though  simple,  prep- 
arations. "  And  I  suppose  you  can  make  new  things  if 
you  have  direction." 

"  Well — I'm  pretty  good  at  workin'  out  a  resate,  too. 
But  then,  I  ain't  anyways  partic'ler  'bout  hirin'  out,  as 
I  said  afore." 

Faith  judged  rightly  that  this  was  a  salvo  put  in  for 
pride.  The  Yankee  girl  would  not  appear  anxious  for 
a  servile  situation.  All  the  while  the  conversation  went 
on,  she  sat  tilting  herself  gently  back  and  forth  in  the 
rocking-chair,  with  a  lazy  touching  of  her  toes  to  the 
floor.  Her  very  vis  ineriice  would  not  let  her  stop. 

Faith's  only  question,  now,  was  with  herself, — how 
she  should  get  away  again.  She  had  no  idea  that  this 
huge,  indolent  creature  would  be  at  all  suitable  as  their 
servant.  And  then,  her  utter  want  of  manners ! 

"  I'll  tell  my  mother  what  you  say,"  said  she,  rising. 
"  I  only  came  to  inquire." 

"  What's  your  mother's  name,  and  where  d'ye  live  ?  " 

"  We  live  at  Kinnicutt  Cross  Corners.  My  mother  is 
Mrs.  Henderson  Gartney." 

"'M!" 

Faith  turned  toward  the  kitchen. 

"  Look  here !  "  called  the  stout  young  woman  after 


120  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

her;  you  may  jest  say  if  she  wants  me  she  can  send 
for  me.  I  don't  mind  if  I  try  it  a  spell." 

"  I  didn't  ask  your  name,"  remarked  Faith,  pausing 
on  the  threshold  and  waiting  for  enlightenment. 

"  Oh !  my  name's  Mis'  Battis !  " 

Faith  escaped  over  the  wet  floor,  sprang  past  the 
white-haired  child  at  the  door-step,  and  was  just  in  time 
to  be  put  into  the  chaise  by  Doctor  Wasgatt,  who  drove 
up  as  she  came  out.  She  did  not  dare  trust  her  voice 
to  speak  within  hearing  of  the  house ;  but  when  they  had 
come  round  the  mills  again,  into  the  secluded  river  road, 
she  startled  its  quietness  and  the  doctor's  composure, 
with  a  laugh  that  rang  out  clear  and  overflowing  like 
the  very  soul  of  fun. 

"  So  that's  all  you've  got  out  of  your  visit  ?  "  asked 
the  doctor,  guessing  easily  at  some  ludicrous  conjunc- 
ture. 

"Yes,  that  is  all,"  said  Faith.  "But  it's  a  great 
deal !  "  And  she  laughed  again, — such  a  merry  lit- 
tle waterfall  of  a  laugh  as  chimed  in  wonderfully  with 
all  the  broad,  bright  cheer  of  the  summer  day,  and 
made  a  fitting  music  there,  between  the  woods  and 
river. 

When  she  reached  home,  Mrs.  Gartney  met  her  at  the 
door. 

"  Well,  Faithie,"  she  cried,  somewhat  eagerly,  "  what 
have  you  found  ?  " 

Faith's  eyes  danced  with  merriment. 

"  I  don't  know,  mother !  A — hippopotamus,  I 
think!" 

"  Won't  she  do  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why  she's  as  big !  I  can't  tell  you  how  big !  And 
she  sat  in  a  rocking-chair  and  rocked  all  the  time, — and 
she  says  her  name  is  Miss  Battis !  " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  12 1 

Mrs.  Gartney  looked  rather  perplexed  than  amused. 

"  But,  Faith ! — I  can't  think  how  she  knew, — she 
must  have  been  listening, — Norah  has  been  so  horribly 
angry!  And  she's  up  stairs  packing  her  things  to  go 
right  off.  How  can  we  be  left  without  a  cook  ?  " 

"  It  seems  Hiss  McGonegal  means  to  demonstrate 
that  we  can!  Perhaps — the  hippopotamus  might  be 
trained  to  domestic  service!  She  said  you  could  send 
if  you  wanted  her.  And  she  knows  about  plain  country 
cooking." 

"  I  don't  see  anything  else  to  do.  Nbrah  won't  even 
stay  till  morning.  And  there  isn't  a  bit  of  bread  in  the 
house.  I  can't  send  this  afternoon,  though,  for  your 
father  has  driven  over  to  Sedgely  about  some  celery  and 
tomato  plants,  and  won't  be  home  till  tea-time." 

"  I'll  make  some  cream  biscuits  like  aunt  Faith's. 
And  I'll  go  out  into  the  garden  and  find  Luther.  If  he 
can't  carry  us  through  the  Reformation,  somehow,  he 
doesn't  deserve  his  name." 

Luther  was  found — though  Jerry  Blanchard  wouldn't 
"  value  lettin'  him  have  his  old  horse  and  shay  for  an 
hour."  And  he  wouldn't  "  be  mor'n  that  goinV  He 
could  "  fetch  her,  easy  enough,  if  that  was  all." 

Mis'  Battis  came. 

She  entered  Mrs.  Gartney's  presence  with  calm  non- 
chalance, and  "  flumped  "  incontinently  into  the  easiest 
and  nearest  chair. 

Mrs.  Gartney  began  with  the  common  preliminary — 
the  name.  Mis'  Battis  introduced  herself  as  before. 

"  But  your  first  name  ? "  proceeded  the  lady. 

"  My  first  name  was  Parthenia  Pranker.  I'm  a 
relic." 

Mrs.  Gartney  experienced  an  internal  convulsion, 
but  retained  her  outward  composure. 


122  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  I  suppose  you  would  quite  as  lief  be  called  Par- 
thenia  ? " 

"  Ruther,"  replied  the  relict,  laconically. 

And  Mrs.  Parthenia  Battis  was  forthwith  installed, — 
pro  tern., — in  the  Cross  Corners  kitchen. 

"  She's  got  considerable  gumption,"  was  the  opinion 
Luther  volunteered,  of  his  own  previous  knowledge, — 
for  Mrs.  Battis  was  an  old  schoolmate  and  neighbor, — 
"  but  she's  powerful  slow." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

NEW    DUTIES. 

"  Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might."— 
Ecc.  9 :  10. 

"  A  servant  with  this  clause 

Makes  drudgery  divine ; — 
Who  sweeps  a  room  as  for  Thy  laws, 
Makes  that  and  the  action  fine." 

GEORGE  HERBERT. 

Mis'  BATTIS'S  "  gumption  "  was  a  relief, — conjoined, 
even,  as  it  was,  to  a  mighty  inertia, — after  the  experi- 
ence of  Norah  McGonegal's  utter  incapacity;  and  her 
admission,  pro  tempore,  came  to  be  tacitly  looked  upon 
as  a  permanent  adoption,  for  want  of  a  better  alterna- 
tive. She  continued  to  seat  herself,  unabashed,  when- 
ever opportunity  offered,  in  the  presence  of  the  family ; 
and  invariably  did  so,  when  Mrs.  Gartney  either  sent 
for,  or  came  to  her,  to  give  orders.  Dishcloth,  or  rolling- 
pin,  or  bread-knife,  or  poker,  or  whatever  other  utensil 
in  hand, — down  she  would  plump  the  instant  active 
operations,  if  hers  might  ever  be  so  denominated,  were 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  123 

suspended,  by  having  her  attention  demanded  otherwise. 
She  always  spoke  of  Mr.  Gartney  as  "  he,"  addressed 
her  mistress  as  Miss  Gartney,  and  ignored  all  prefix  to 
the  gentle  name  of  Faith.  The  first  of  these  habits  was 
simply  borne  with,  in  consideration  of  inalienable  laws. 
Heavy  bodies  have  a  right  to  gravitate;  and  power  of 
resistance  can  only  be  expected  in  inverse  proportion  to 
the  force  of  attraction.  For  the  matter  of  appellations, 
Mrs.  Gartney  at  last  remedied  the  pronominal  difficulty 
by  invariably  applying  all  remarks  bearing  no  other  in- 
dication, to  that  other  "  he  "  of  the  household — Luther. 
Her  own  claim  to  the  matronly  title  she  gave  up  all 
hope  of  establishing ;  for  if  the  "  relic'  "  abbreviated 
her  own  wifely  distinction,  how  should  she  be  expected 
to  dignify  other  people  ? 

As  to  Faith,  her  mother  ventured  one  day,  sensitively 
and  timidly,  to  speak  directly  to  the  point. 

"  My  daughter  has  always  been  accustomed  to  be 
called  Miss  Faith,"  she  said,  gently,  in  reply  to  an 
observation  of  Parthenia's,  in  which  the  ungarnished 
name  had  twice  been  used.  "  It  isn't  a  very  important 
matter, — still,  it  would  be  pleasanter  to  us,  and  I  dare 
say  you  won't  mind  trying  to  remember  it  ? " 

"  'M !  "  Mis'  Battis's  invariable  intonation  in  re- 
sponse to  the  suggestion  of  any  new  idea  was  somewhat 
prolonged.  "  No, — I  ain't  partic'ler.  Faith  ain't  a 
long  name,  and  'twon't  be  much  trouble  to  put  a  handle 
on,  if  that's  what  you  want.  It's  English-fashion,  ain't 
it?" 

Parthenia's  coolness  enabled  Mrs.  Gartney  to  assert, 
somewhat  more  confidently,  her  own  dignity. 

"  It  is  a  fashion  of  respect  and  courtesy,  everywhere, 
I  believe." 

"  'M  1  "  re-ejaculated  the  relict. 


124  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Thereafter,  Faith  was  "  Miss,"  with  a  slight  pressure 
of  emphasis  upon  the  handle. 

"  Mamma !  "  cried  Hendie,  impetuously,  one  day,  as 
he  rushed  in  from  a  walk  with  his  attendant,  "  I  hate 
Mahala  Harris !  I  wish  you'd  let  me  dress  myself,  and 
go  to  walk  alone,  and  send  her  off  to  Jericho !  " 

"  Whereabouts  do  you  suppose  Jericho  to  be  ?  "  asked 
Faith,  laughing. 

"  I  don't  know.  It's  where  she  keeps  wishing  I  was, 
when  she's  cross,  and  I  want  anything.  I  wish  she  was 
there ! — and  I  mean  to  ask  papa  to  send  her !  " 

"  Go  and  take  your  hat  off,  Hendie,  and  have  your 
hair  brushed,  and  your  hands  washed,  and  then  come 
back  in  a  nice  quiet  little  temper,  and  we'll  talk  about 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Gartney. 

"  I  think,"  said  Faith  to  her  mother,  as  the  boy  was 
heard  mounting  the  stairs  to  the  nursery,  right  foot 
foremost  all  the  way,  "  that  Mahala  doesn't  manage 
Hendie  as  she  ought.  She  keeps  him  in  a  fret.  I  hear 
them  in  the  morning  while  I  am  dressing.  She  seems  to 
talk  to  him  in  a  taunting  sort  of  way;  and  he  gets  so 
angry,  sometimes!  I'm  afraid  she's  spoiling  his  tem- 
per." 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gartney,  wor- 
riedly. "  These  changes  are  dreadful.  WTe  might  get 
some  one  worse.  And  then  we  can't  afford  to  pay  ex- 
travagantly. Mahala  has  been  content  to  take  less 
wages,  and  I  think  she  means  to  be  faithful.  Perhaps 
if  I  make  her  understand  how  important  it  is,  she  will 
try  a  different  manner." 

"  Only  it  might  be  too  late  to  do  much  good,  if 
Hendie  has  really  got  to  dislike  her.  And — besides — 
I've  been  thinking, — only,  you  will  say  I'm  so  full  of 
projects — " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

But  what  the  project  was,  Mrs.  Gartney  did  not  hear 
at  once,  for  just  then  Hendie's  voice  was  heard  again  at 
the  head  of  the  stairs. 

"  I  tell  you,  mother  said  I  might !  I'm  going — down 
— in  a  nice — little  temper — to  ask  her — to  send  you — 
to  Jericho !  "  Left  foot  foremost,  a  drop  between  each 
few  syllables,  he  came  stumping,  defiantly,  down  the 
stairs,  and  appeared  with  all  his  eager  story  in  his  eyes, 

"  She  plagues  me,  mamma !  She  tells  me  to  see  who'll 
get  dressed  first ;  and  if  she  does,  she  says, — 

"  « The  first's  the  best, 

The  second's  the  same ; 
The  last's  the  worst 
Of  all  the  game ! ' 

And  if  I  get  dressed  first, — all  but  the  buttoning,  you 
know, — she  says, — 

'"The  last's  the  best, 

The  second's  the  same ; 
The  first's  the  worst 
Of  all  the  game  I ' 

And  then  she  keeps  telling  me  '  her  little  sister  never 
behaved  like  me.'  I  asked  her  where  her  little  sister 
was,  and  she  said  she'd  gone  over  Jordan.  I'm  glad 
of  it !  I  wish  Mahala  would  go  too !  " 

Mrs.  Gartney  smiled,  and  Faith  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing outright. 

Hendie  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  Everybody  keeps  plaguing  me !  It's  to  bad !  "  he 
cried,  with  tumultuous  sobs. 

Faith  checked  her  laughter  instantly.  She  took  the 
indignant  little  fellow  on  her  lap,  in  despite  of  some 
slight,  implacable  struggle  on  his  part,  and  kissed  his 
pouting  lips.  / 


126  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  No,  indeed,  Hendie !  We  wouldn't  plague  you  for 
all  the  world!  And  you  don't  know  what  I've  got  for 
you,  just  as  soon  as  you're  ready  for  it !  " 

Hendie  took  his  little  knuckles  out  of  his  eyes,  and 
looked  up,  inquiringly,  holding  his  hands  upraised, 
meantime,  on  either  side  his  tearful  face,  as  quite  ready 
to  begin  crying  again,  in  case  the  proffered  diversion 
should  not  prove  satisfactory. 

"  A  bunch  of  great  red  cherries,  as  big  as  your  two 
hands!" 

The  hands  went  alternately  to  the  eyes  again,  and 
streaked  away  the  tears  for  clearer  seeing. 

"Where?" 

ft  I'll  get  them,  if  you're  good.  And  then  you  can  go 
out  in  the  front  yard,  and  eat  them,  so  that  you  can  drop 
the  stones  on  the  grass." 

Hendie  was  soon  established  on  a  flat  stone  under 
the  old  chestnut-trees,  in  a  happy  temporary  oblivion 
of  Mahala's  injustice,  and  her  little  sister's  unendurable 
perfections. 

"  I'll  tell  you,  mamma.  I've  been  thinking  we  need 
not  keep  Mahala,  if  you  don't  wish.  She  has  been  so 
used  to  do  nothing  but  run  round  after  Hendie,  that, 
really,  she  isn't  much  good  about  the  house;  and  I'll 
take  Hendie's  trundle-bed  into  my  room,  and  there'll 
be  one  less  chamber  to  take  care  of;  and  you  know  we 
always  dust  and  arrange  down  here." 

"  Yes, — but  the  sweeping,  Faithie !  And  the  wash- 
ing !  Parthenia  never  would  get  through  with  it  all." 

"  Well,  somebody  might  come  and  help  wash.  And 
I  guess  I  can  sweep." 

"  But  I  can't  bear  to  put  you  to  such  work,  darling ! 
You  need  your  time  for  other  things." 

f<  I  have  ever  so  much  time,  mother !    And,  besides, 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

as  Aunt  Faith  says,  I  don't  believe  it  makes  so  very 
much  matter  what  we  do.  I  was  talking  to  her,  the 
other  day,  about  doing  coarse  work,  and  living  a  narrow, 
common  kind  of  life,  and  what  do  you  think  she  said  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell,  of  course.  Something  blunt  and 
original." 

"  We  were  out  in  the  garden.  She  pointed  to  some 
plants  that  were  coming  up  from  seeds,  that  had  just 
two  tough,  clumsy,  coarse  leaves.  '  What  do  you  call 
them  ? '  said  auntie.  '  Cotyledons,  aren't  they  ? '  said  I. 
'  I  don't  know  what  they  are  in  botany/  said  she ;  '  but 
I  know  the  use  of  'em.  They'll  last  a  while,  and  help 
feed  up  what's  growing  inside  and  underneath,  and 
by-and-by  they'll  drop  off,  when  they're  done  with,  and 
you'll  see  what's  been  coming  of  it.  Folks  can't 
live  the  best  right  out  at  first,  any  more  than  plants  can. 
I  guess  we  all  want  some  kind  of — cotyledons.' ' 

Mrs.  Gartney's  eyes  shone  with  affection,  and  some- 
thing that  affection  called  there,  as  she  looked  upon  her 
daughter. 

"  I  guess  the  cotyledons  won't  hinder  your  growing," 
said  she.  * 

And  so,  in  a  few  days  after,  Mahala  was  dismissed, 
and  Faith  took  upon  herself  new  duties. 

It  was  a  bright,  happy  face  that  glanced  hither  and 
thither,  about  the  house,  those  fair  summer  mornings; 
and  it  wasn't  the  hands  alone  that  were  busy,  as  under 
their  dexterous  and  delicate  touch  all  things  arranged 
themselves  in  attractive  and  graceful  order.  Thought 
straightened  and  cleared  itself,  as  furniture  and  books 
were  dusted  and  set  right ;  and  while  the  carpet  bright- 
ened under  the  broom,  something  else  brightened  and 
strengthened,  also,  within. 

It  is  so  true,  what  the  author  of  "  Euthanasy  "  tell« 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

u§,  that  exercise  of  limb  and  muscle  develops  not  only 
themselves,  but  what  is  in  us  as  we  work. 

"  Every  stroke  of  the  hammer  upon  the  anvil  hardens 
a  little  what  is  at  the  time  the  temper  of  the  smith's 
mind." 

"  The  toil  of  the  ploughman  furrows  the  ground,  and 
so  it  does  his  brow  with  wrinkles,  visibly ;  and  invisibly, 
but  quite  as  certainly,  it  furrows  the  current  of  feeling, 
common  with  him  at  his  work,  into  an  almost  un- 
changeable channel." 

Faith's  life-purpose  deepened  as  she  did  each  daily 
task.  She  had  hold,  already  of  the  "  high  and  holy  work 
of  love  "  that  had  been  prophesied. 

"  I  am  sure  of  one  thing,  mother,"  said  she,  gayly ; 
"  if  I  cton't  learn  much  that  is  new,  I  am  bringing  old 
knowledge  into  play.  It's  the  same  thing,  taken  hold  of 
at  different  ends.  I've  learned  to  draw  straight  lines, 
and  shape  pictures;  and  so  there  isn't  any  difficulty  in 
sweeping  a  carpet  clean,  or  setting  chairs  straight.  I 
never  shall  wonder  again  that  a  woman  who  never  heard 
of  a  right  angle  can't  lay  a  table  even." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  BLESSED    BE   YE,    POOK." 

And  so  we  yearn,  and  so  we  sigh, 
And  reach  for  more  than  we  can  see ; 

And,  witless  of  our  folded  wings, 
Walk  Paradise,  unconsciously. 

OCTOBER  came,  and  brought  small  dividends.     The 
expenses  upon  the  farm  had  necessarily  been  consider- 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

able,  also,  to  put  things  in  "  good  running  order."  Mr. 
Gartney's  health,  though  greatly  improved,  was  not  yet 
so  confidently  to  be  relied  on,  as  to  make  it  advisable 
for  him  to  think  of  any  change,  as  yet,  with  a  view  to 
business.  Indeed,  there  was  little  opportunity  for  busi- 
ness, to  tempt  him.  Everything  was  flat.  The  ex- 
haustion of  the  great  financial  struggle  it  had  passed 
through  lay,  like  a  paralysis,  upon  the  community. 
There  was  neither  confidence  nor  credit.  Without 
actual  capital,  nothing  could  be  done.  Mr.  Gartney 
must  wait.  But  when  a  man  finds  himself,  at  five-and- 
forty  years  of  age,  out  of  business,  with  broken  health, 
and  in  disastrous  times,  there  is  little  likelihood  of  his 
launching  successfully  ever  again  into  any  large  mer- 
cantile life.  Mrs.  Gartney  and  Faith  felt,  though  they 
talked  of  waiting,  that  the  prospect  really  before  them 
•was  that  of  a  careful,  obscure  life,  upon  a  very  limited 
income.  The  house  in  Mishaumok  had  stood  vacant 
all  the  summer.  There  was  hope,  of  course,  of  letting  it 
now,  as  the  winter  season  came  on,  but  rents  were  fall- 
ing, and  people  were  timid  and  discouraged.  Nobody 
made  any  sort  of  move  who  could  help  it. 

October  was  beautiful  at  Kinnicutt.  And  Faith, 
when  she  looked  out  over  the  glory  of  woods  and  sky, 
and  felt  the  joy  of  the  sunshine,  as  the  hem  of  sum- 
mer's departing  robe  overswept  the  bright  frost-broider- 
ies of  autumn,  making  such  a  palpable  blessedness 
abroad — felt  rich  with  the  great  wealth  of  the  world, 
and  forgot  about  economies  and  privations.  She  was 
so  glad  they  had  come  here  with  their  altered  plans, 
and  had  not  struggled  shabbily  and  drearily  on  in 
Mishaumok ! 

It  was  only  when  some  chance  bit  of  news  from  the 
city,  or  a  girlish,  gossipy  note  from  some  school-friend 
9 


130  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

found  its  way  to  Cross  Corners,  that  she  felt,  a  little 
keenly,  her  denials, — realized  how  the  world  she  had 
lived  in  all  her  life  was  going  on  without  her,  and  how 
here,  environed  with  the  beauty  of  all  earth  and  heaven, 
she  was  yet  so  nearly  shut  out  from  congenial  human 
.companionship.  There  were  so  many  things  she  had 
hoped  to  learn,  and  to  do,  and  to  enjoy,  that  now  must  be 
only  dreams!  So  many  things  she  felt  herself  fitted 
for,  that  now  might  never  come  in  her  way!  What  a 
strange  thing  was  life !  A  longing — a  reaching — an 
imagining — a  hoping, — was  it  ever  a  substantial  grasp- 
ing? Were  we  just  put  here  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
things  that  might  be,  and  to  turn  away  from  all,  know- 
ing that  it  may  not  be,  for  us  ? 

It  was  the  old  plaint  that  Glory  made,  in  her  dark 
days  of  childhood, — this  feeling  of  despondency  and 
loss  that  assailed  Faith  now  and  then, — "  such  lots  of 
good  times  in  the  world,  and  she  not  in  'em !  " 

Mrs.  Etherege  and  Saidie  were  coming  home.  Ger- 
trude  Rushleigh,  Sadie's  old  intimate,  was  to  be  mar- 
ried on  the  twenty-eight,  and  had  fixed  her  wedding 
thus  for  the  very  last  of  the  month,  that  Miss  Gartney 
might  arrive  to  keep  her  promise  of  long  time,  by  offiu 
ciating  as  bridesmaid. 

The  family  eclipse  would  not  overshadow  Saidie. 
She  had  made  her  place  in  the  world  now,  and  with  her 
aunt's  aid  and  countenance,  would  keep  it.  It  was  quite 
different  with  Faith, — disappearing,  as  she  had  done, 
from  notice,  before  ever  actually  "  coming  out." 

"  It  was  a  thousand  pities,"  Aunt  Etherege  said, 
when  she  and  Saidie  discussed  with  Mrs.  Gartney,  at 
Cross  Corners,  the  family  affairs.  "  And  things  just 
as  they  were,  too !  WThy,  another  year  might  have  set- 
tled matters  for  her,  so  that  this  need  never  have  hap- 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

pened!  At  any  rate,  the  child  shouldn't  be  moped  up 
here,  all  winter !  " 

Mrs.  Etherege  had  engaged  rooms,  on  her  arrival,  at 
the  Mishaumok  House;  and  it  seemed  to  be  taken  for 
granted  by  her,  and  by  Saidie  as  well,  that  this  coming 
home  was,  as  Faith  had  long  ago  prophesied,  a  mere 
visit;  that  Miss  Gartney  would,  of  course,  spend  the 
greater  part  of  the  winter  with  her  aunt ;  and  that  lady 
extended  also  an  invitation  to  Mishaumok  for  a  month — 
including  the  wedding  festivities  at  the  Rushleighs' — 
to  Faith. 

Faith  shook  her  head.  She  "  knew  she  couldn't  be 
spared  so  long."  Secretly,  she  doubted  whether  it  would 
be  a  good  plan  to  go  back  and  get  a  peep  at  things  that 
might  send  her  home  discontented  and  unhappy. 

But  her  mother  reasoned,  or  felt  impulse,  otherwise. 
Faithie  must  go.  "  The  child  mustn't  be  moped  up." 
She  would  get  on,  somehow,  without  her.  Mothers  al- 
ways can.  So  Faith,  by  a  compromise,  went  for  a  fort- 
night. She  couldn't  quite  resist  her  newly-returned 
sister. 

Besides,  a  pressing  personal  invitation  had  come 
from  Margaret  Rushleigh  to  Faith  herself,  with  a  little 
private  announcement  at  the  end,  that  "  Paul  was  re- 
fractory, and  utterly  refused  to  act  as  fourth  grooms- 
man, unless  Faith  Gartney  were  got  to  come  and  stand 
with  him." 

Faith  tore  off  the  postscript,  and  might  have  lit  it 
at  her  cheeks,  but  dropped  it,  of  habit,  into  the  fire; 
and  then  the  note  was  at  the  disposal  of  the  family. 

It  was  a  whirl  of  wonderful  excitement  to  Faith — 
that  fortnight !  So  many  people  to  see,  so  much  to  hear, 
and  in  the  midst  of  all,  the  gorgeous  wedding  festival ! 

What  wonder  if  a  little  dream  flitted  through  her 


132  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

head,  as  she  stood  there,  in  the  marriage  group,  at  Paul 
Rushleigh's  side,  and  looked  about  her  on  the  magnifi- 
cent fashion,  wherein  the  affection  of  new  relatives 
and  old  friends  had  made  itself  tangible ;  and  heard  the 
kindly  words  of  the  elder  Mr.  Rushleigh  to  Kate  Liv- 
ingston, who  stood  with  his  son  Philip,  and  whose  bridal, 
it  was  well  known,  was  to  come  next  ?  Jewels,  and 
silver,  and  gold,  are  such  flashing,  concrete  evidences  of 
love!  And  the  courtly  condescension  of  an  old  and 
world-honored  man  to  the  young  girl  whom  his  son  has 
chosen,  is  such  a  winning  and  distinguishing  thing ! 

Paul  Rushleigh  had  finished  his  college  course,  and 
was  to  go  abroad  this  winter — between  the  weddings, 
as  he  said — for  his  brother  Philip's  was  to  take  place 
in  the  coming  spring.  After  that, — things  were  not 
quite  settled,  but  something  was  to  be  arranged  for  him 
meanwhile, — he  would  have  to  begin  his  work  in  the 
world;  and  then — he  supposed  it  would  be  time  for 
him  to  find  a  helpmate.  Marrying  was  like  dying,  he 
believed ;  when  a  family  once  began  to  go  off  there  was 
soon  an  end  of  it ! 

Blushes  were  the  livery  of  the  evening,  and  Faith's 
deeper  glow  at  this  audacious  rattle  passed  unheeded, 
except,  perhaps,  as  it  might  be  somewhat  wilfully  in- 
terpreted. 

There  were  two  or  three  parties  made  for  the  newly- 
married  couple  in  the  week  that  followed.  The  week 
after,  Paul  Rushleigh,  with  the  bride  and  groom,  was 
to  sail  for  Europe.  At  each  of  these  brilliant  entertain- 
ments he  constituted  himself,  as  in  duty  bound,  Faith's 
knight  and  sworn  attendant ;  and  a  superb  bouquet  for 
each  occasion,  the  result  of  the  ransack  of  successive 
greenhouses,  came  punctually,  from  him,  to  her  door. 
afterward, — perhaps  for  all  her  life, — 


FAITH   GARTtfEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  133 

Faith  couldn't  smell  heliotrope,  and  geranium  and 
orange  flowers,  without  floating  back,  momentarily,  in- 
to the  dream  of  those  few,  enchanted  days ! 

She  stayed  in  Mishaumok  a  little  beyond  the  limit  she 
had  fixed  for  herself,  to  go,  with  the  others,  on  board  the 
steamer  at  the  time  of  her  sailing,  and  see  the  gay 
party  off.  Paul  Rushleigh  had  more  significant  words, 
and  another  gift  of  flowers  as  a  farewell. 

When  she  carried  these  last  to  her  own  room,  to  put 
them  in  water,  on  her  return,  something  she  had  not 
noticed  before  glittered  among  their  stems.  It  was  a 
delicate  little  ring,  of  twisted  gold,  with  a  forget-me- 
not  in  turquoise  and  enamel  upon  the  top. 

Faith  was  half-pleased,  half-frightened,  and  wholly 
ashamed. 

Paul  Rushleigh  was  miles  out  on  the  Atlantic.  There 
was  no  help  for  it,  she  thought.  It  had  been  cunningly 
done. 

And  so,  in  the  short  November  days,  she  went  back  to 
Kinnicutt. 

The  east  parlor  had  to  be  shut  up  now,  for  the  winter. 
The  family  gathering-place  was  the  sunny  little  sitting- 
room  ;  and  with  closed  doors  and  doubled  windows,  they 
began,  for  the  first  time,  to  find  that  they  were  really 
living  in  a  little  bit  of  a  house. 

It  was  very  pretty,  though,  with  the  rich  carpet  and 
the  crimson  curtains  that  had  come  from  Hickory  Street, 
replacing  the  white  muslin  draperies  and  straw  matting 
of  the  summer ;  and  the  books  and  vases,  and  statuettes 
and  pictures,  gathered  into  so  small  space,  seemed  to 
fill  the  room  with  luxury  and  beauty. 

Faith  nestled  her  little  work-stand  into  a  nook  between 
the  windows.  Hendie's  blocks  and  picture  books  were 
stowed  in  a  corner  cupboard.  Mr.  Gartney's  news- 


134  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

papers  and  pamphlets,  as  they  came,  found  room  in  a 
deep  drawer  below;  and  so,  through  the  wintry  drifts 
and  gales,  they  were  "  close  hauled  "  and  comfortable. 

Faith  was  happy;  yet  she  thought,  now  and  then, 
when  the  whistling  wind  broke  the  stillness  of  the  dark 
evenings,  of  light  and  music  elsewhere ;  and  how,  a  year 
ago,  there  had  always  been  the  chance  of  a  visitor  or  two 
to  drop  in,  and  while  away  the  hours.  Nobody  rang  the 
bell  or  lifted  the  old-fashioned  knocker,  here  at  Cross 
Corners. 

By  day,  even  it  was  scarcely  different.  Kinnicutt 
was  hibernating.  Each  household  had  drawn  into  its 
shell.  And  the  huge  drifts,  lying  defiant  against  the 
fences  in  the  short,  ineffectual  winter  sunlight,  held 
out  little  hope  of  reanimation.  Aunt  Faith,  in  her 
pumpkin  hood,  and  Rob  Roy  cloak,  and  carpet  mocca- 
sins, came  over  once  in  two  or  three  days,  and  even 
occasionally  stayed  to  tea,  and  helped  make  up  a  rubber 
of  whist  for  Mr.  Gartney's  amusement;  but,  beyond 
this,  they  had  no  social  excitement. 

January  brought  a  thaw ;  and,  still  further  to  break 
the  monotony,  there  arose  a  stir  and -an  anxiety  in  the 
parish. 

Good  Mr.  Holland,  its  minister  of  thirty  years,  whose 
health  had  been  failing  for  many  months,  was  at  last 
/compelled  to  relinquish  the  duties  of  his  pulpit  for  a 
'time ;  and  a  supply  was  sought  with  the  ultimate  prob- 
ability of  a  succession.  A  new  minister  came  to  preach, 
who  was  to  fill  the  pastor's  place  for  the  ensuing  three 
months.  On  his  first  Sunday  among  them,  Faith  heard 
a  wonderful  sermon. 

I  indicate  thus,  not  the  oratory,  nor  the  rhetoric ;  but 
the  sermon,  of  which  these  were  the  mere  vehicle, — the 
word  of  truth  itself, — which  was  spoken,  seemingly,  to 
her  very  thought. 


EAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  135 

So  also,  as  certainly,  to  the  long  life-thought  of  one 
other.  Glory  McWhirk  sat  in  Miss  Henderson's  cor- 
ner pew,  and  drank  it  in,  as  a  soul  athirst. 

A  man  of  middle  age,  one  might  have  said,  at  first 
sight, — there  was,  here  and  there,  a  silver  gleam  in  the 
dark  hair  and  beard ;  yet  a  fire  and  earnestness  of  youth 
in  the  deep,  beautiful  eye,  and  a  look  in  the  face  as 
of  life's  first  flush  and  glow  not  lost,  but  rather  merged 
in  broader  light,  still  climbing  to  its  culmination,  belied 
these  tokens,  and  made  it  as  if  a  white  frost  had  fallen 
in  June, — rising  up  before  the  crowded  village  congre- 
gation, looked  round  upon  the  upturned  faces,  as  One 
had  looked  before  who  brought  the  bread  of  Life  to 
men's  eager  asking;  and  uttered  the  self-same  simple 
words. 

It  was  a  certain  pause  and  emphasis  he  made, — a 
slight  new  rendering  of  punctuation, — that  sent  home 
the  force  of  those  words  to  the  people  who  heard  them, 
as  if  it  had  been  for  the  first  time,  and  fresh  from  the 
lips  of  the  Great  Teacher. 

"Blessed  are  the  poor:  in  spirit:  for  theirs  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven." 

"  Herein  Christ  spoke,  not  to  a  class,  only,  but  to 
the  world !  A  world  of  souls,  wrestling  with  the  poverty 
of  life! 

"  In  that  whole  assemblage — that  great  concourse — 
that  had  thronged  from  cities  and  villages  to  hear  His 
words  upon  the  mountain-sidej-^-was  there,  think  you, 
one  satisfied  nature  ? 

"  Friends — are  ye  satisfied  ? 

"  Or,  does  every  life  come  to  know,  at  first  or  at 
last,  how  something, — a  hope,  or  a  possibility,  or  the 


13(j  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

fulfilment  of  a  purpose, — has  got  dropped  out  of  it,  or 
has  even  never  entered,  so  that  an  emptiness  yawns, 
craving,  therein,  forever? 

"  How  many  souls  hunger  till  they  are  past  their 
appetite!  Go  on, — down  through  the  years, — needy 
and  waiting,  and  never  find  or  grasp  that  which  a  sure 
instinct  tells  them  they  were  made  for? 

"  This,  this  is  the  poverty  of  life !  These  are  the 
poor,  to  whom  God's  Gospel  was  preached  in  Christ! 
And  to  these  denied  and  waiting  ones  the  first  words  of 
Christ's  preaching — as  I  read  them — were  spoken  in 
blessing. 

"  Because,  elsewhere,  he  blesses  the  meek ;  elsewhere 
and  presently,  he  tells  us  how  the  lowly  in  spirit  shall 
inherit  the  earth ;  so,  when  I  open  to  this,  his  earliest  ut- 
tered benediction  upon  our  race,  I  read  it  with  an  in- 
terpretation that  includes  all  humanity. 

" '  Blessed,  in  spirit,  are  the  poor.  Theirs  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven/ 

•  .  •  «  » 

"  They,  only,  who  go  without,  know,  truly,  what  it  is 
to  have.  The  light,  and  the  music,  and  the  splendor, 
and  the  feasting,  are  greater  to  the  beggar  who  peeps 
in  from  the  street,  than  to  him  who  sits  at  the  revel.  It 
is  the  naked  and  the  hungry  who  can  tell  you  best  the 
good  of  food  and  raiment.  So  we  live  in  a  paradox.  We 
feel,  keenest,  the  joy  we  never  come  to. 

•"Ye  who  have  missed  out  of  your  actual  living  the 

answer  to  your  soul's   passionate   asking, — ye   whom 

something  afar  off,  that  ought  to  be  your  very  own, 

passes  by  like  a  mirage,  who  see,  away  off  upon  the  dis- 

.tant. horizon,  like  dwellers  in  a  wintry  Artie,  a  sun  cjr- 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

cling  over  happier  zones,  that  never  comes  nigh  your 
zenith, — see  here !  where  the  unsetting  Sun  of  the  King- 
dom sends  down  its  full  and  glorious  rayg  into  the  secret 
cold  and  ache  within  you! 

•  •*.*• 

"  Outside  may  be  cold  and  darkness.  Your  hands 
may  stretch  into  an  unresponsive  void.  Yet  in  your 
spirits  are  ye  blessed.  There  find  ye,  wide  open,  the 
door  into  the  Kingdom !  As  out  of  a  dream,  paths  im- 
possible to  sense  and  every  day  show  plain  and  sudden 
transit  into  distant  places, — so  from  ^our  shut  souls 
widens  out  an  entrance-way  into  God's  everlasting  Joy ! 

"  Yours  is  the  Kingdom !  Because  earth  is  so  little, 
the  world  that  lies  in  and  about  this  visible  that  we  call 
earth  becomes  so  much ! 

"  What  is  this  Kingdom  of  Heaven  ?  '  It  is  within 
you.'  It  is  that  which  you  hold,  and  live  in  spiritually ; 
the  real,  of  which  all  earthly,  outward  being  and  hav- 
ing are  but  the  show.  It  is  the  region  wherein  little 
children  "  do  always  behold  the  Face  of  my  Father 
which  is  in  Heaven-."  It  is  where  we  are' when  we  shut 
our  eyes  and  pray  in  the  words  that  Christ  taught  us. 

"  There  are  souls  who  do  not  need  to  live  out,  coarsely, 
in  detail.  Their  inward  conception  transcends  the 
visible  form.  Count  it  an  assurance  of  more  vital  good, 
when  God  denies  you. 

"  All  that  in  any  life  you  know  of  or  can  imagine 
that  seems  to  you  lovely,  and  to  be  longed  for,  is  yours 
..already,  in  that  very  longing.     You  take  its  .essence,  so, 


138  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

into  your  souls.  And  you  hold  it  as  God's  promise  for 
the  great  time  to  come.  So  you  have  His  seal  upon  your 
foreheads.  So  He  calls  you,  and  shall  lead  you,  into 
the  place  He  has  prepared  for  you  from  the  foundation 
of  the  world.  There  is  no  joy,— there  is  no  beauty, — 
there  is  no  glory  of  living  or  of  acting, — no  supreme 
moment  you  can  picture  in  your  dreams,  that  is  not  in 
your  life,  as  God  sees  it, — stirring  in  the  intuition  you 
have  of  it  now, — waiting  for  you  in  the  glorious  fulfil- 
ment that  shall  be  There ! 

•  »  •  •  • 

"  What  matters,  then,  where  your  feet  stand,  or 
wherewith  your  hands  are  busy  ?  So  that  it  is  the  spot 
where  God  has  put  you,  and  the  work  He  has  given  you 
to  do?  Your  real  life  is  within, — hid  in  God  with 
Christ, — ripening,  and  strengthening,  and  waiting,  as 
through  the  long,  geologic  ages  of  night  and  incomplete- 
ness waited  the  germs  of  all  that  was  to  unfold  into 
this  actual,  green,  and  bounteous  earth! 

•  •  •  •  • 

"  Take  in  to  yourselves,  then,  fearlessly,  all  life 
whereto  your  own  life,  by  any  far  or  secret  sympathy, 
touches, — for  it  is  yours !  Rejoice  with  that  which  doth 
rejoice,  and  weep  with  all  that  weeps! 

"  Your  body  can  only  traverse  minute  spaces  of  a 
tiny  globe:  the  minutes  of  your  breathing,  mortal  life 
can  only  give  you  time  for  puny  and  unfinished  action ; 
— but  the  soul  of  all  that  is  broad  and  beautiful,  noble 
and  great,  may  be  none  the  less  nourishing  within  you, 
feeding  itself  on  all  the  life  that  is  living,  or  has  been 
living,  or  shall  be  lived ! 

"  The  narrower  your  daily  round,  the  wider,  maybe, 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  139 

the  outreach.  Isolated  upon  a  barren  mountain-peak, 
you  may  take  in  river  and  lake, — forest,  field,  and 
valley.  A  hundred  gardens  and  harvests  lift  their  bloom 
and  fulness  to  your  single  eye. 

"  There  is  a  sunlight  that  contracts  the  vision ;  there 
•^  a  starlight  that  enlarges  it  to  take  in  infinite  space. 

"  God  sets  some  souls  in  shade,  alone. 
They  have  no  daylight  of  their  own. 
Only  in  lives  of  happier  ones 
They  see  the  shine  of  distant  suns. 

"  God  knows.     Content  thee  with  thy  night. 
Thy  greater  heaven  hath  grander  light, 
To-day  is  close.     The  hours  are  small. 
Thou  sitst  afar,  and  hast  them  all. 

"  Lose  the  less  joy  that  doth  but  blind ; 
Reach  forth  a  larger  bliss  to  find. 
To-day  is  brief  :  the  inclusive  spheres 
Rain  raptures  of  a  thousand  years." 

Faith  could  not  tell  what  hymn  was  sung,  or  what 
were  the  words  of  the  prayer  that  followed  the  sermon. 
There  was  a  music  and  an  uplifting  in  her  own  soul 
that  made  them  needless,  but  for  the  pause  they  gave 
her. 

She  hardly  knew  that  a  notice  was  read  as  the  people 
rose  before  the  benediction,  when  the  minister  gave  out, 
as  requested,  that  "  the  Village  Dorcas  Society  would 
meet  on  Wednesday  of  the  coming  week,  at  Mrs.  Parley 
Gimp's." 

She  was  made  aware  that  it  had  fallen  upon  her  ears, 
though  heard  unconsciously,  when  Serena  Gimp  caught 
her  by  the  sleeve  in  the  church  porch. 

"  Ain't  it  awful,"  said  she,  with  a  simper  and  a  flutter 
of  importance,  "  to  have  your  name  called  right  out  so 
in  the  pulpit?  I  declare,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  seeing 


140  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

the  new  minister,  I  wouldn't  have  come  to  meeting,  I 
dreaded  it  so !  Ain't  he  handsome  ?  He's  old,  though 
— thirty-five !  He's  broken-hearted,  too !  Somebody 
died,  or  something  else,  that  he  was  going  to  be  married 
to,  ever  so  many  years  ago;  and  they  say  he  hasn't 
hardly  spoken  to  a  lady  since.  That's  so  romantic !  I 
don't  wonder  he  preaches  such  low-spirited  kind  of  ser- 
mons. Qnly  I  wish  they  warn't  quite  so.  I  suppose 
it's  beautiful,  and  heavenly-minded,  and  all  that;  but 
yet  I'd  rather  hear  something  a  little  kind  of  cheerful. 
Don't  you  think  so?  But  the  poetry  was  elegant — 
warn't  it?  I  guess  it's  original,  too.  They  say  be 
puts  things  in  the  *  Mishaumok  Monthly.' — Come  Wed- 
nesday, won't  you  ?  We  shall  depend,  you  know." 

To  Miss  Gimp,  the  one  salient  point,  amid  the  solem- 
nities of  the  day,  had  been  that  pulpit  notice.  She 
had  put  new  strings  to  her  bonnet  for  the  occasion. 
Mrs.  Gimp,  being  more  immediately  and  personally  af- 
fected, had  modestly  remained  away  from  church. 

Faith  got  away,  she  hardly  knew  how.  Her  mind 
misgave  her  afterward  that  it  had  been  by  a  precipitate 
and  positive  promise  to  attend  the  meeting  of  the  Village 
Dorcas  Society. 

Glory  McWhirk  went  straight  through  the  village, 
home ;  and  out  to  her  little  room  in  the  sunny  side  of  the 
low,  sloping  roof.  This  was  her  winter  nook.  She 
had  a  shadier  one,  looking  the  other  way,  for  summer. 

Does  it  seem  unlikely  that  this  untaught  girl  should 
have  taken  in  the  meaning  of  the  words  that  had  burned 
upon  her  ear  to-day  ?  The  speaker's  diction  may  have 
been  beyond  her,  here  and  there ;  it  might  be  impossible 
for  her  now  to  gather  up  in  her  memory  any  portion 
of  the  precise  form  in  which  the  glorious  truth  had 
come  to  Ler ;  that  mattered  not.  It  needs  not  a  critical 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

interpretation  of  language  to  apprehend  a  thought  whose 
rudiment  has  been  lying  in  the  soul  before.  The  little 
seed  underneath  the  earth  can  no  further  analyze  the 
sunbeam  than  to  snatch  from  it  the  mysterious  vivifica- 
tion  it  was  waiting  for.  This  it  does,  surely. 

"  I  wonder  if  it's  all  true !  "  she  cried,  silently,  in 
her  soul,  while  she  stood  for  a  minute  with  bonnet  and 
shawl  still  on,  and  grasping  still  in  her  fingers  what  she 
had  held  there  all  the  morning — her  Testament  and 
Sunday-school  question-book,  and  folded  pocket-handker- 
chief,— looking  out  from  her  little  window,  dreamily, 
over  the  dazzle  of  the  snow,  even  as  her  half -blinded 
thought  peered  out  from  its  own  narrowness  into  the 
infinite  splendor  of  the  promise  of  God, — "  I  wonder  if 
God  will  ever  make  me  beautiful !  I  wonder  if  I  shall 
ever  have  a  real,  great  joyfulness,  that  isn't  a  make- 
believe  !  " 

Glory  called  her  fancies  so.  They  followed  her  still. 
She  lived  yet  in  an  ideal  world.  The  real  world, — 
that  is,  the  best  good  of  it, — had  not  come  close  enough 
to  her,  even  in  this,  her  widely  amended  condition,  to 
displace  the  other.  Remember,- — this  child  of  eighteen 
had  missed  her  childhood ;  had  known  neither  father  nor 

' 

mother,  sister  nor  brother. 

Don't  think  her  simple,  in  the  pitiful  meaning  of  the 
word;  but  she  still  enacted,  in  the  midst  of  her  plain, 
daily  life,  wonderful  dreams  that  nobody  could  have 
ever  suspected;  and  here,  in  her  solitary  chamber, 
called  up  at  will  creatures  of  imagination  who  were  to 
her  what  (human  creatures,  alas!  Lad  never  been. 
Above  all,  she  had  a  sister  here,  to  whom  she  told  all  her 
secrets.  This  sister's  name  was  Leonora. 


142  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 


CHAPTEK  XVIL 

FEOST-WONDEBS. 

••  No  hammers  fell,  no  ponderous  axes  rung ; 
Like  some  tall  palm,  the  mystic  fabric  sprung. 
Majestic  silence !  "  HEBER. 

THE  thaw  continued  till  the  snow  was  nearly  gone. 
Only  the  great  drifts  against  the  fences,  and  the  white 
folds  in  the  rifts  of  distant  hill-sides  lingered  to  tell 
what  had  been.  Then  came  a  day  of  warm  rain,  that 
washed  away  the  last  fragment  of  earth's  cast-off  ves- 
ture, and  bathed  her  pure  for  the  new  adornment  that 
was  to  be  laid  upon  her.  At  night,  the  weather  cooled, 
and  the  rain  changed  to  a  fine,  slow  mist,  congealing  as 
it  fell. 

Faith  stood  next  morning  by  a  small  round  table  in 
the  sitting-room  window,  and  leaned  lovingly  over  her 
jonquils  and  hyacinths  that  were  coming  into  bloom. 
A  tall  stem  that  had  been  opening  day  by  day,  succes- 
sively, bright  bits  of  golden  blossom,  stood  erect  in  a 
small  stateliness,  with  its  last  wee  flower  unfolded,  and 
seemed  to  have  taken  a  new  attitude  and  expression, 
since  yesterday,  of  satisfied  and  proud  accomplishment. 
It  was  so  pert,  so  dainty,  so  prim,  that  Faith  laughed 
in  the  six  saucy  little  faces  that  looked  out  at  her  from 
its  slender  culm.  Then  she  drew  the  curtain-cord  to 
let  in  the  first  sunbeam  that  should  slant  from  the  south 
upon  her  bulbs.  She  had  somehow  hurried  from  her 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  143 

room,  forgetting  to  throw  up  her  window  at  the  moment 
of  her  leaving,  as  it  was  her  habit  to  do.  She  knew 
the  sunbeams  were  coming,  though,  for  they  were 
bright  from  the  east  upon  the  linen  shades.  So  her 
first  fair  glimpse  of  the  day  was  at  raising  the  white 
curtain  slowly  over  its  roller,  like  the  uplifting  of  a 
drapery  from  before  a  scene. 

She  gave  a  little  cry  of  rapturous  astonishment.  It 
was  a  diamond  morning ! 

Away  off,  up  the  lane,  and  over  the  meadows,  every 
tree  and  bush  was  hung  with  twinkling  gems  that  the 
slight  wind  swayed  against  each  other  with  tiny  crashes 
of  faint  music,  and  the  sun  was  just  touching  with  a 
level  splendor. 

Every  spire  and  thorn  stood  stiff  with  crystal  armor ; 
the  stones  and  fences  and  tree-boles  were  veneered  with 
glass.  The  tiniest  twig  was  visible  in  separate  light. 
The  gorgeous  tracery  of  the  boughs  seemed  to  open 
interminable  vistas  of  resplendent  intricacy.  The  field 
whose  green  summer  plentitude  gave  but  one  soft  sen- 
sation to  the  eye,  was  a  wilderness  now,  where  every 
glistening  grass-blade  insisted  on  its  individuality.  The 
earth  widened  out — was  magnified.  The  unmeasured 
blue  above  seemed  to  dwindle  in  the  presence  of  all  the 
myriad  growths  it  overarched. 

After  that  first,  quick  cry,  Faith  stood  mute  with 
ecstay. 

"  Mother !  "  said  she,  breathlessly,  at  last,  as  Mrs. 
Gartney  entered,  "  look  there !  have  you  seen  it  ?  Just 
imagine  what  the  woods  must  be  this  morning!  How 
can  we  think  of  buckwheats  ?  " 

Sounds  and  odors  betrayed  that  Mis'  Battis  and 
breakfast  were  in  the  little  room  adjoining. 

"  There  is  a  thought  of  something  akin  to  them, 


144  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

isn't  there,  under  all  this  splendor  ?  Men  must  live,  and 
grass  and  grain  must  grow." 

Mr.  Gartney  said  this,  as  he  came  up  behind  wife 
and  daughter,  and  laid  a  hand  on  a  shoulder  of  each. 

"I  know  one  thing,  though,"  said  Faith.  "I'll 
eat  the  buckwheats,  as  a  vulgar  necessity,  and  then  I'll 
go  over  the  brook  and  up  in  the  woods  behind  the 
Pasture  Rocks.  It'll  last,  won't  it  ?  " 

"  Not  many  hours,  with  this  spring  balm  in  the 
air,"  replied  her  father.  "  You  must  make  haste.  By 
noon,  it  will  be  all  a  drizzle." 

"  Will  it  be  quite  safe  for  her  to  go  alone  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Gartney. 

"  I'll  ask  Aunt  Faith  to  let  me  have  Glory.  She 
showed  me  the  walk  last  summer.  It  is  fair  she  should 
see  this,  now." 

So  the  morning  odds  and  ends  were  done  up  quickly 
at  Cross  Corners  and  at  the  Old  House,  and  then  Faith 
and  Glory  set  forth  together, — the  latter  in  as  sublime 
a  rapture  as  could  consist  with  mortal  cohesion. 

The  common  road-side  was  an  enchanted  path.  Th^ 
glittering  rime  transfigured  the  very  cart-ruts  into  bars 
of  silver;  and  every  coarse  weed  was  a  fretwork  of 
beauty. 

"  Bells  on  their  toes  "  they  had,  this  morning,  as- 
suredly ;  each  footfall  made  a  music  on  the  sod. 

And  the  fringes  up  and  down  the  brook-side !  In  and 
out  the  arches  of  his  rare  "  ice-palace,"  leaped  the  frost- 
defying  current,  dashing  new  jewels  right  and  left,  like 
a  king  scattering  largess  as  he  rides  along ! 

Over  the  slippery  bridge, — out  across  a  stretch  of 
open  meadow,  and  then  along  a  track  that  skirted  the 
border  of  a  sparse  growth  of  trees,  projecting  itself 
like  a  promontory  upon  the  level  land, — round  its 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

abrupt  angle  into  a  sweep  of  meadow  again,  on  whoso 
farther  verge  rose  the  Pasture  Rocks.  This  was  their 
way. 

Behind  these  rocks  swelled  up  gently  a  slope,  half 
pasture,  half  woodland, — neither  open  ground  nor 
forest ;  but,  although  clear  enough  for  comfortable  walk- 
ing, studded  pretty  closely  with  trees  that  often  inter- 
laced their  branches  overhead,  and  made  great,  pillared 
aisles,  among  whose  shade,  in  summer,  wound  delicious 
little  foot-paths  that  all  came  out  together,  midway  up, 
into — what  you  shall  be  told  of  presently. 

Around  the  borders  of  the  meadows  they  had  crossed, 
grew  luxuriant  elms,  that  made,  with  their  low,  sweep- 
ing boughs,  festoons,  and  bowers,  and  far-off  mounds  of 
light. 

Here,  among  and  beyond  the  rocks,  were  oaks, 
and  pines,  and  savins, — each  needle-like  leaf  a  shim- 
mering lance, — each  clustering  branch  a  spray  of  gems, 
— and  the  stout,  spreading  limbs  of  the  oaks  delineating 
themselves  against  the  sky  above  in  Gothic  frost- 
work. 

Great  icicles  hung  from  points  of  craggy  stone,  and 
dropped,  crashing  in  the  stillness,  from  tips  of  branches 
that  overhung  them  as  they  went.  This,  with  now  and 
then  a  chick-a-dee's  note,  was  all  the  winter  music  of 
the  woods.  But  the  grandeur  of  that  silence!  The 
awe  of  standing  there,  with  the  flashing  groins  of  those 
wild  and  mighty  arches  overhead,  and  the  low  wind 
whispering  through,  like  an  awaking  organ,  and  the 
sunlight  coming  down  out  of  the  blue  above,  and  pene- 
trating in  broad  gleams,  like  a  living  Presence ! 

One  chant  reiterated  itself  in  Faith's  soul,  as  she 
gazed    and    listened.     "  The    Lord    is    in    His    Holy 
Temple ;  let'  all  the  earth  keep  silence  before  Him !  " 
10 


146  FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

As  for  Glory,  she  walked  on,  in  a  hushed  joy,  as  if 
an  angel  led  her. 

Suddenly, — before  they  thought  it  could  be  so  near, — 
they  came  up  and  out  into  a  broader  opening.  Between 
two  rocks  that  made,  as  it  were,  a  gate-way,  and  around 
whose  bases  were  grouped  sentinel  evergreens,  they  came 
into  this  wider  space,  floored  with  flat  rock,  the  surface 
of  a  hidden  ledge,  carpeted  with  crisp  mosses  in  the 
summer,  whose  every  cup  and  hollow  held  a  jewel  now, 
— and  enclosed  with  lofty  oaks  and  pines,  while,  straight 
beyond,  where  the  woods  shut  in  again  far  closer  than 
below,  rose  a  bold  crag,  over  whose  brow  hung  pendent 
birches  that  in  their  icy  robing  drooped  like  glittering 
wings  of  cherubim  above  an  altar. 

All  around  and  underneath,  this  strange  magnificence. 
Overhead,  the  everlasting  Blue,  that  roofed  it  in  with 
saphire.  In  front,  the  rough,  gigantic  shrine. 

"  It  is  like  a  cathedral !  "  said  Faith,  solemnly  and 
low. 

"  See !  "  whispered  Glory,  catching  her  companion 
hastily  by  the  arm, — "  there  is  the  minister !  " 

A  little  way  beyond  them,  at  the  right,  out  from 
among  the  clumps  of  evergreen  where  some  other  of  the 
little  wood-walks  opened,  a  figure  advanced  without  per- 
ceiving them.  It  was  Roger  Armstrong,  the  new  min- 
ister. He  held  his  hat  in  his  hand.  He  walked,  un- 
covered, as  he  would  have  done  into  a  church,  into  this 
forest  temple,  where  God's  finger  had  just  been  writing 
on  the  walls. 

When  he  turned,  slowly,  his  eye  fell  on  the  other  two 
who  stood  there.  It  lighted  up  with  a  quick  joy  of 
sympathy.  He  came  forward.  Faith  bowed.  Glory 
stood  back,  shyly.  Neither  party  seemed  astonished  at 
the  meeting.  It  was  so  plain  why  they  came,  that  if 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  147 

they  had  wondered  at  all,  it  would  have  been  that  the 
whole  village  should  not  be  pouring  out  hither,  also. 

Mr.  Armstrong  led  them  to  the  centre  of  the  rocky 
space.  "  This  is  the  best  point,"  said  he.  And  then 
was  silent.  There  was  no  need  of  words.  A  greatness 
of  thought  made  itself  felt  from  one  to  the  other,  with- 
out expression. 

Only,  between  still  pauses,  words  came  that  almost 
spoke  themselves. 

"  '  Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  hath  it  entered  into  the 
heart  of  man  to  conceive,  that  which  God  hath  prepared 
for  them  that  love  him.'  What  a  commentary  upon 
His  promise  is  a  glory  like  this !  " 

"  '  And  they  shall  all  shine  like  the  sun  in  the  king- 
dom of  my  Father ! ' 

Faith  stood  by  the  minister's  side,  and  glanced,  when 
he  spoke,  from  the  wonderful  beauty  before  her  to  a 
face  whose  look  interpreted  it  all.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  very  presence  of  this  man  that  drew  others 
who  approached  him  into  the  felt  presence  of  God. 
Because  he  stood  therein  in  the  spirit.  These  are  the 
true  apostles  whom  Christ  sends  forth. 

Glory  could  have  sobbed  with  an  oppression  of  rever- 
ence, enthusiasm,  and  joy. 

"  It  is  only  a  glimpse,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong,  by-aud- 
by.  "  It  is  going,  already." 

A  drip — drip — was  beginning  to  be  heard  in  the 
woods. 

"  You  ought  to  get  away  from  under  the  trees  be- 
fore  the  thaw  comes  fully  on,"  continued  he.  "  A 
branch  breaks,  now  and  then,  and  the  ice  will  be  falling 
constantly,  when  it  once  begins  to  loosen.  I  can  show 
you  a  more  open  wav  than  the  one  you  came  by,  I 
think." 


148  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

And  he  gave  his  arm  to  Faith  over  the  slope  that 
even  now  was  growing  wet  and  slippery  in  the  sun. 
Faith  touched  it  with  a  reverence,  and  dropped  it  again, 
modestly,  when  they  reached  a  safer  foothold. 

Glory  kept  behind.  Mr.  Armstrong  turned  now  and 
then,  with  a  kindly  word,  and  a  thought  for  her  safety. 
Once  he  took  her  hand,  and  helped  her  down  a  sudden 
descent  in  the  path,  where  the  water  had  run  over  and 
made  a  smooth,  dangerous  glare. 

"I  shall  call  soon  to  see  your  father  and  mother, 
Miss  Gartney,"  said  he,  when  they  reached  the  road 
again  beyond  the  brook,  and  their  ways  home  lay  in  dif- 
ferent directions.  "  This  meeting,  to-day,  has  given  me 
pleasure." 

"  How  ?  "  Faith  wondered  silently,  as  she  kept  on  to 
the  Cross  Corners.  She  had  hardly  spoken  a  word. 
But,  then,  she  might  have  remembered  that  the  min- 
ister's own  words  had  been  few,  yet  her  very  speechless- 
ness  before  him  had  come  from  the  deep  pleasure  that 
his  presence  had  given  to  her.  The  recognition  of  souls 
cares  little  for  words.  Faith's  soul  had  been  in  her 
face  to-day,  as  Roger  Armstrong  had  seen  it  each  Sun- 
day, also,  in  the  sweet,  listening  look  she  uplifted  before 
him  in  the  church.  He  bent  towards  this  young,  pure 
life,  with  a  joy  in  its  gentle  purity ;  the  joy  of  an  elder 
over  a  younger  angel  in  the  school  of  God. 

And  Glory  ?  she  laid  up  in  her  own  heart  a  beautiful 
remembrance  of  something  she  had  never  known  before. 
Of  a  near  approach  to  something  great  and  high,  yet 
gentle  and  beneficent.  Of  a  kindly,  helping  touch,  a 
gracious  smile,  a  glance  that  spoke  straight  to  the  mute 
aspiration  within  her. 

The  minister  had  not  failed,  through  all  her  humble- 
ness and  shyness,  to  read  some  syllables  of  that  large, 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  149 

imuttered  life  of  hers  that  lay  beneath.  He  whose  labor 
it  is  to  save  souls,  learns  always  the  insight  that  discerns 
souls. 

"  I  have  seen  the  Winter !  "  cried  Faith,  glowing  aad 
joyous,  as  she  came  in  from  her  walk. 

"  It  has  been  a  beautiful  time !  "  said  Glory  to  her 
shadow-sister,  when  she  went  to  hang  away  hood  and 
shawl.  "  It  has  been  a  beautiful  time, — and  I've  been 
really  in  it, — partly !  " 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

OUT  IN  THE  SNOW. 

"  Sydnaein  showers 
Of  sweet  discourse,  whose  powers 
Can  crown  old  winter's  head  with  flowers." 

CRASHAW. 

WINTER  had  not  exhausted  her  repertory,  however. 
She  had  more  wonders  to  unfold. 

There  came  a  long  snow-storm. 

Steadily,  patiently,  persistently,  the  tiny  flakes  came 
down  out  of  a  great,  gray,  inexhaustible  gloom  above, 
and  fell,  each  to  its  appointed  place,  rounding  up  and 
out,  everywhere,  the  marvellous  sculpture  that  is 
,  builded,  not  chiselled,  and  transforming  common  things 
into  shapes  of  dreamy  grace  and  splendor.  Stilly  and 
surely, — all  day,  all  night,  almost  all  day  again, — the 
work  of  atoms  went  on  mightily;  till  the  clouds,  like 
artists  falling  back  before  their  finished  work,  parted, 
and  let  in  the  sun  to  look  on  what  they  had  achieved. 
Then  fell  an  afternoon  effulgence  over  all.  Peaks  and 


150  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

mounds  and  drifts  glanced  in  a  rosy  light.  The  great 
trees  held  their  branches  in  a  breathless  quietness,  lest 
their  perfect  draperies  should  be  disturbed.  There  was 
a  strange  hush  in  nature.  The  world  was  muffled.  All 
the  indefinite  stir  that  tells  us  in  the  stillest  of  other 
scenes,  that  a  deep,  palpitating  life  goes  on  under 
whatever  look  of  rest  the  earth  assumes,  was  covered 
and  soundless  now.  It  was  a  pause  of  pure  complete- 
ness. 

"  Faithie,"  said  her  father,  coming  in,  wrapped  up  in 
furs,  from  a  visit  to  the  stable,  "  put  your  comfortables 
on,  and  we'll  go  and  see  the  snow.  We'll  make  tracks, 
literally,  for  the  hills.  There  isn't  a  road  fairly  broken 
between  here  and  Grover's  Peak.  The  snow  lies  beauti- 
fully, though ;  and  there  isn't  a  breath  of  wind.  It  will 
be  a  sight  to  see." 

Faith  brought,  quickly,  sontag,  jacket,  and  cloak, — 
hood  and  veil,  and  long,  warm  snow-boots,  and  in  ten 
minutes  was  ready,  as  she  averred,  for  a  sledge  ride  to 
Hudson's  Bay. 

Luther  drove  the  sleigh  close  to  the  kitchen  door,  that 
Faith  might  not  have  to  cross  the  yard  to  reach  it,  and 
she  stepped  directly  from  the  threshold  into  the  warm 
nest  of  buffalo-robes ;  while  Mis'  Battis  put  a  great  stone 
jug  of  hot  water  in  beside  her  feet,  asserting  that  it  was 
"  a  real  comfortin'  thing  on  a  sleigh-ride,  and  that  they 
needn't  be  afraid  of  its  leakin',  for  the  cork  was  druv 
in  as  tight  as  an  eye-tooth !  " 

So,  out  by  the  barn,  into  the  road,  and  away  from  the 
village  toward  the  hills,  they  went,  with  the  glee  of 
resonant  bells  and  excited  expectation. 

A  mile,  or  somewhat  more,  along  the  Sedgely  turn- 
pike, took  them  into  a  bit  of  woods  that  skirted  the  road 
on  either  side,  for  a  considerable  distance.  Away  in, 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

under  the  trees,  the  stillness  and  the  whiteness  and  the 
wonderful  multiplication  of  snow-shapes  were  like  en- 
chantment. Each  bush  had  an  attitude  and  drapery 
and  expression  of  its  own,  as  if  some  weird  life  had 
suddenly  been  spell-bound  in  these  depths.  Cherubs, 
and  old  women,  and  tall  statute-shapes  like  images  of 
gods,  hovered,  and  bent,  and  stood  majestic,  in  a 
motionless  poise.  Over  all,  the  bent  boughs  made 
marble  and  silver  arches  in  shadow  and  light,  and,  far 
down  between,  the  vistas  lengthened  endlessly,  still 
crowded  with  mystic  figures,  haunting  the  long  galleries 
with  their  awful  beauty. 

They  went  on,  penetrating  a  lifeless  silence;  their 
horse's  feet  making  the  first  prints  since  early  morning 
in  the  unbroken  smoothness  of  the  way,  and  the  only 
sound  the  gentle  tinkle  of  their  own  bells,  as  they  moved 
pleasantly,  but  not  fleetly,  along. 

So,  up  the  ascent,  where  the  land  lay  higher,  toward 
the  hills. 

"  I  feel,"  said  Faith,  "  as  if  I  had  been  hurried 
through  the  Louvre,  or  the  Vatican,  or  both,  and  hadn't 
half  seen  anything.  Was  there  ever  anything  so 
strange  and  beautiful  ?  " 

"  We  shall  find  more  Louvres  presently,"  said  her 
father.  "  We'll  keep  the  road  round  Grover's  Peak,  and 
turn  off,  as  we  come  back,  down  Garland  Lane." 

"  That  lovely,  wild,  shady  road  we  took  last  summer 
BO  often,  where  the  grape-vines  grow  so,  all  over  the 
trees  ? " 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Mr.  Gartney.  "  But  you  mustn't 
scream  if  we  thump  about  a  little,  in  the  drifts  up  there. 
It's  pretty  rough,  at  the  best  of  times,  and  the  snow  will 
have  filled  in  the  narrow  spaces  between  the  rocks  and 
ridges,  like  a  freshet.  Shall  you  be  afraid  ?  " 


152  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Afraid !  Oh,  no,  indeed !  It's  glorious !  I  think  I 
should  like  to  go  everywhere !  " 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  everywhere  in  every  little 
distance,"  said  Mr.  Gartney.  "  People  get  into  cars, 
and  go  whizzing  across  whole  States,  often,  before  they 
stop  to  thoroughly  enjoy  something  that  is  very  like 
what  they  might  have  found  within  ten  miles  of  home. 
For  my  part,  I  like  microscopic  journeying." 

"  Leaving  '  no  stone  unturned.'  So  do  I,"  said  Faith. 
"  We  don't  half  know  the  journey  between  Kinnicutt 
and  Sedgely  yet,  I  think.  And  then,  too,  they're  multi- 
plied, over  and  over,  by  all  the  different  seasons,  and 
by  different  sorts  of  weather.  Oh,  we  shan't  use  them 
up,  in  a  long  while !  " 

Saidie  Gartney  had  not  felt,  perhaps,  in  all  her 
European  travel,  the  sense  of  inexhaustible  pleasure 
that  Faith  had  when  she  said  this. 

Down  under  Grover's  Peak,  with  the  river  on  one 
side,  and  the  white-robed  cedar  thickets  rising  on  the 
other, —  with  the  low  afternon  sun  glinting  across  from 
the  frosted  roofs  of  the  red  mill-buildings  and  barns 
and  farm-houses  to  the  rocky  slope  of  the  Peak,  where 
pines  and  cedars  and  hemlocks  stood,  like  sheeted  senti- 
nels, and  from  every  crevice  sprang  a  sturdy  shrub  in 
grotesque  disguise,  like  a  gnome  guarding  or  indicating 
treasure, — they  seemed  to  go,  as  Faith  said,  "  right  into 
a  fairy  tale ;  "  the  wild  forms  and  aspects  of  nature 
blending  so  with  the  signs  of  simple,  human  life.  She 
could  fancy  a  bold  peasant,  coming  up  from  the  little 
settlement  beneath  to  his  wood-piles  on  the  steep  hill- 
side, encountering  strange  adventures  there  among  the 
crags ;  and  that  the  sprite-like  apparitions  gleaming  out 
so  in  the  twilight  of  the  place,  watched  and  presided,  el- 
fishly,  over  the  mortal  haps  below.  Certain  physical 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  153 

aspects  transport  us,  mysteriously,  into  certain  mental 
atmosphere.  She  got  a  flavor  of  Grimm  and  Andersen, 
here,  under  Grover's  Peak. 

Then  they  came  round  and  up  again,  over  a  southerly 
ridge,  by  beautiful  Garland  Lane,  that  she  knew  only  in 
its  summer  look,  when  the  wild  grape  festooned  itself 
wantonly  from  branch  to  branch,  and  sometimes,  even, 
from  side  to  side ;  and  so  gave  the  narow  forest-road  its 
name. 

Quite  into  fairy-land  they  had  come  now,  in  truth; 
as  if,  skirting  the  dark  peak  that  shut  it  off  from  ordi- 
nary espial,  they  had  lighted  on  a  by-path  that  led  them 
covertly  in.  Trailing  and  climbing  vines  wore  their 
draperies  lightly;  delicate  shrubs  bowed  like  veiled 
shapes  in  groups  around  the  bases  of  tall  tree-trunks, 
and  slight-stemmed  birches  quivered  under  their  can- 
opies of  snow.  Little  birds  hopped  in  and  out  under 
the  pure,  still  shelter,  and  left  their  tiny  tracks,  like 
magical  hieroglyphs,  in  the  else  untrodden  paths. 

"  Lean  this  way,  Faith,  and  keep  steady !  "  cried  Mr. 
Gartney,  as  the  horse  plunged  breast-high  into  a  drift, 
and  the  sleigh  careened  toward  the  side  Faith  was  on. 
It  was  a  sharp  strain,  but  they  ploughed  their  way 
through,  and  came  upon  a  level  again.  This  by-street 
was  literally  unbroken.  No  one  had  traversed  it  since 
the  beginning  of  the  storm.  The  drifts  had  had  it  all 
their  own  way  there,  and  it  involved  no  little  adven- 
turousness  and.  risk,  as  Mr.  Gartney  began  to  see,  to 
pioneer  a  passage  through.  But  the  spirit  of  adventure 
was  upon  them  both.  On  all,  I  should  say;  for  the 
strong  horse  plunged  forward,  from  drift  to  drift,  as 
though  he  delighted  in  the  encounter.  Moreover,  to 
turn  was  impossible. 

Faith  laughed,  and  gave  little  shrieks,  alternately,  as 


154  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

they  rose  triumphantly  from  deep,  "  slumpy  "  hollows, 
or  pitched  headlong  into  others  again.  Thus,  strug- 
gling, enjoying, — just  frightened  enough,  now  and  then, 
to  keep  up  the  excitement, — they  came  upon  the  summit 
of  the  ridge.  Now  their  way  lay  downward.  This 
began  to  look  really  almost  perilous.  With  careful 
guiding,  however,  and  skilful  balancing, — tipping, 
creaking,  sinking,  emerging, — they  kept  on  slowly, 
about  half  the  distance  down  the  descent. 

The  sagacious  horse  grew  warier  at  every  step.  He 
seemed  to  understand  the  difficulty  and  the  danger. 
Lifting  his  fore  feet  high,  one  after  the  other,  with 
tremendous  strides,  he  would  reach  them  on,  and  plant 
them  deep  in  the  uncertain  drifts,  and  then,  with  a 
strain  and  a  tug,  bring  hinder  feet  and  all  his  burden 
after. 

In  the  intervals  of  immediate  excitement  and  anxiety, 
Faith  took  in  the  wonderful,  almost  mountainous  as- 
pect of  the  snow-piled  group  of  hills  they  were  among. 
It  was  wild,  dreary,  solitary.  ISTot  a  house  was  to  be 
seen.  There  were,  in  fact,  none  nearer  than  the  little 
settlement  at  Grover's  Mills.  Down  below  them  wound 
the  level  road  which  they  had  to  regain. 

Suddenly,  the  horse,  as  men  and  brutes,  however 
sagacious,  sometimes  will,  made  a  miscalculation  of 
depth  or  power, — lost  his  sure  balance, — sunk  to  his 
body  in  the  yielding  snow, — floundered  violently  in  an 
endeavor  to  regain  safe  footing, — and,  snap !  crash !  was 
down  against  the  drift  at  the  left,  with  a  broken  shaft 
under  him ! 

Mr.  Gartney  sprang  to  his  head. 

One  runner  was  up, — one  down.  The  sleigh  stuck 
fast  at  an  agle  of  about  thirty  degrees.  Faith  clung  to 
the  upper  side. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  155 

Here  was  a  situation !  What  was  to  be  done  ?  Twi- 
light coming  on, — no  help  near, — no  way  of  getting  any- 
where ! 

"  Faith,"  said  Mr.  Gartney,  "  what  have  you  got  on 
your  feet  ? " 

"  Long,  thick  snow-boots,  father.     What  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Do  you  dare  to  come  and  try  to  unfasten  these 
'buckles?  There  is  no  danger.  Major  can't  stir  while 
I  hold  him  by  the  head." 

Faith  jumped  out  into  the  snow,  and  valorously  set 
to  work  at  the  buckles.  She  managed  to  undo  one,  and 
to  slip  out  the  fastening  of  the  trace,  on  one  side,  where 
it  held  to  the  whiffletree.  But  the  horse  was  lying  so 
that  she  could  not  get  at  the  other. 

"  I'll  come  there,  father !  "  she  cried,  clambering  and 
struggling  through  the  drift  till  she  came  to  the  horse's 
head.  "  Can't  I  hold  him  while  you  undo  the  har- 
ness ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can,  Faithie.  He  isn't  down  so 
flat  as  to  be  quite  under  easy  control." 

"  Not  if  I  sit  on  his  head  ?  "  asked  Faith,  seeing 
that  her  father  simply  pressed  with  both  hands  down- 
ward upon  it. 

"  That  might  do,"  replied  her  father,  laughing. 
"  Only  you  would  get  frightened,  maybe,  and  jump  up 
too  soon." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  Faith,  quite  determined  upon 
heroism.  While  she  spoke,  she  had  picked  up  the  whip, 
which  had  fallen  close  by,  doubled  back  the  lash  against 
the  handle,  and  was  tying  her  blue  veil  to  its  tip. 
Then  she  sat  down  on  the  animal's  great  cheek,  which 
she  had  never  fancied  to  be  half  so  broad  before,  and 
gently  patted  his  nose  with  one  hand,  while  she  upheld 
her  blue  flag  with  the  other.  Major's  big,  panting 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

breaths  came  up,  close  beside  her  face.  She  kept  a 
quick,  watchful  eye  upon  the  road  below. 

"  He's  as  quiet  as  can  be,  father !  It  must  be  what 
Miss  Beecher  called  the  '  chivalry  of  horses ! ' 

It's  the  chivalry  that  has  to  develop  under  petticoat 
government !  "  retorted  Mr.  Gartney,  glancing  at  the 
meek  nose  that  projected  itself  beyond  the  sweep  of 
crinoline,  as  he  came  nearer  to  unbuckle  the  saddle- 
girth. 

At  this  moment  Faith's  blue  flag  waved  vehemently 
over  her  head.  She  had  caught  the  jingle  of  bells,  and 
perceived  a  sleigh,  with  a  man  in  it,  come  out  into  the 
crossing  at  the  foot  of  Garland  Lane.  The  man  de- 
scried the  signal  and  the  disaster,  and  the  sleigh  stopped. 
Alighting,  he  led  his  horse  to  the  fence,  fastened 
him  there,  and  turning  aside  into  the  steep,  narrow, 
unbroken  road,  began  a  vigorous  struggle  through  the 
drifts  to  reach  the  wreck. 

Coming  nearer,  he  discerned  and  recognized  Mr. 
Gartney,  who  also,  at  the  same  moment,  was  aware  of 
him.  It  was  Mr.  Armstrong. 

"  Keep  still  a  minute  longer,  Faith,"  said  her  father, 
lifting  the  remaining  shaft  against  the  dasher,  and  try- 
ing to  push  the  sleigh  back,  away  from  the  animal.  But 
this,  alone,  he  was  unable  to  accomplish.  He  was 
forced  to  await  the  arrival  of  his  timely  helper.  So  the 
minister  came  up,  and  found  Faith  still  seated  on  the 
horse's  head. 

"  Miss  Gartney !  Let  me  hold  him !  "  cried  he,  ad- 
vancing to  relieve  her. 

"  I'm  quite  comfortable !  "  laughed  Faith.  "  If  you 
would  just  help  my  father,  please !  I  couldn't  do  that 
so  well." 

The  sleigh  was  drawn  back  by  the  combined  effort  of 


FAITH   GARTNETS  GIRLHOOD.  157 

the  two  gentlemen,  and  then  both  came  quickly  round  to 
Faith. 

"  Now,  Faith,  jump !  "  said  her  father,  placing  his 
hands  upon  the  creature's  temple,  close  beside  her,  while 
Mr.  Armstrong  caught  her  arms  to  snatch  her  safely 
away.  Faith  sprang,  or  was  lifted  as  she  sprang,  quite 
to  the  top  of  the  huge  bank  of  snow  under  and  against 
which  they  had,  among  them,  beaten  in  and  trodden 
down  such  a  hollow,  and  the  instant  after,  Mr.  Gartney 
releasing  Major's  head,  and  uttering  a  sound  of  en- 
couragement, the  horse  raised  himself,  with  a  half  roll, 
and  a  mighty  scramble,  first  to  his  knees,  and  then  to 
his  four  feet  again,  and  shook  his  great  skin,  and  all  his 
loosened  trappings,  with  an  enormous  shudder,  to  scatter 
the  snow.  Then  he  looked  round,  with  an  expression  of 
undeserved  discomfiture.  He  was  like  a  general  who 
has  planned  well,  and  fought  well,  but,  by  a  sheer  mis- 
fortune, has  lost  his  battle,  and  stands  for  the  world  to 
look  upon  him  as  it  may. 

Mr.  Gartney  examined  the  harness.  The  broken 
shaft  proved  the  extent  of  damage  done.  This,  at  the 
moment,  however,  was  irremediable.  He  knotted  the 
hanging  straps  and  laid  them  over  the  horse's  neck. 
Then  he  folded  a  buffalo-skin,  and  arranged  it,  as  well 
as  he  could,  above  and  behind  the  saddle,  which  he 
secured  again  by  its  girth. 

"  Mr.  Armstrong,"  said  he,  as  he  completed  this 
disposal  of  matters,  "  you  came  along  in  good  time.  I 
am  very  much  obliged  to  you.  If  you  will  do  me  the 
further  favor  to  take  my  daughter  home,  I  will  ride  to 
the  nearest  house  where  I  can  obtain  a  sleigh,  and  some 
one  to  send  'back  for  these  traps  of  mine." 

"  Miss  Gartney,"  said  the  minister,  in  answer,  "  can 
you  sit  a  horse's  back  as  well  as  you  did  his  eyebrow  ?  " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Faith  laughed,  and  reaching  her  arms  to  the  hands 
upheld  for  them,  was  borne  safely  from  her  snowy  pin- 
nacle to  the  buffalo  cushion.  Her  father  took  the  horse 
by  the  bit,  and  Mr.  Armstrong  kept  at  his  side  holding 
Faith  firmly  to  her  seat.  In  this  fashion,  grasping  the 
bridle  with  one  hand,  and  resting  the  other  on  Mr. 
Armstrong's  shoulder,  she  was  transported  somewhat 
roughly,  but  not  uncomfortably,  to  the  sleigh  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill. 

"  We  were  talking  about  long  journeys  in  small 
circuits,"  said  Faith,  when  she  was  well  tucked  in,  and 
they  had  set  off  easily  and  with  tolerable  rapidity  on 
a  level  and  not  utterly  untracked  road.  "  I  think  I 
have  been  to  the  Alhambra,  and  to  Rome,  and  have  had 
a  peep  into  fairy-land,  and  come  back,  at  last,  over  the 
Alps!" 

Mr.  Armstrong  understood  her.  It  is  such  a  comfort 
to  know  one's  hearer  will ! 

"  It  has  been  beautiful,"  said  he.  After  a  little 
pause, — "  I  shall  begin  to  expect  always  to  encoun- 
ter you  whenever  I  get  among  things  wild  and  wonder- 
ful!" 

"  And  yet  I  have  lived  all  my  life,  till  now,  in  tame 
streets,"  said  Faith.  "  I  thought  I  was  getting  into 
tamer  places  still,  when  we  first  came  to  the  country. 
But  I  am  finding  out  Kinnicutt.  One  can't  see  the 
whole  of  anything  at  once." 

"  We  are  small  creatures,  and  can  only  pick  up  atoms 
as  we  go,  whether  of  things  outward  or  inward.  People 
talk  about  taking  '  comprehensive  views ;  '  and  they  sup- 
pose they  do  it.  There  is  only  One  who  does." 

Faith  was  silent. 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong, 
"  how  little  your  thought  can  really  grasp  at  once,  even 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  159 

of  what  you  already  know  ?  How  narrow  your  mentai 
horizon  is  ?  " 

Faith  looked  up  with  a  timid  flash  of  questioning 
intelligence.  Her  silence  asked  him  to  say  more. 

"  Literally,  I  mean,"  continued  the  minister.  "  How 
little  we  clearly  conceive  of  what  we  think  we  have 
learned  longest  and  best  ?  For  instance,  Arithmetic. 
'We  have  what  we  call  a  science  of  numbers,  and  we 
talk  about  numbers,  and  manage  them  on  paper;  but 
how  many  separate  things  that  numbers  stand  for,  can 
you  think  of  at  once  ?  Suppose  they  were  only  apples, 
lying  on  a  table  2  " 

Faith  laughed,  and  then  considered. 

"  Twenty — five,  perhaps,"  said  she. 

"  Ah,  you  multiply !  "  said  Mr.  Armstrong.  "  You 
are  thinking  of  five  times  five !  " 

"  Yes,  I  was,"  she  answered,  with  an  amused  thought- 
fulness.  "  I  must  come  down  to  five,"  said  she,  frankly, 
after  a  pause.  "  Six  are  twice  three." 

"  You  come  down  to  your  five  fingers,  to  speak  with 
the  common  latitude,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong.  "  That 
seems  to  be  the  foundation  and  the  limit.  Yet,  there 
is  One  who  knoweth  '  all  the  cedars  of  Lebanon/  and 
the  '  cattle  upon  a  thousand  hills.'  Who  notes  every 
sparrow  as  it  falls,  and  '  numbers  the  very  hairs  of  our 
heads.'  " 

"  We  do  think  of  large  numbers,  in  the  abstract, 
though,"  said  Faith,  after  a  minute's  hushed  reception 
of  that  last  thought. 

"  Yes,  but  how  ?  "  replied  the  minister.  "  I'll  tell 
you  how  I  do  it.  I  wonder  if  your  way  is  at  all  like 
mine.  Do  you  fancy  the  figures,  from  one  to  one  hun- 
dred, ranged  in  three  sides  of  a  parallelogram,  with  the 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

tens  a  little  taller  than  the  rest,  and  the  corners  turned 
somewhere  about  twenty  and  eighty  ?  " 

Faith's  face  brightened  all  over  with  a  surprised  rec- 
ognition of  something  in  another  that  she  had  imagined 
all  her  own. 

"  That  is  so  strange !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  But  why  do 
you  turn  those  sharp  corners?  My  numbers  stand 
round  in  a  smooth  semicircle." 

Mr.  Armstrong  laughed.  "  The  difference  of  minds," 
said  he.  "  Yours  seems  to  be  spherical, — mine  an- 
gular." 

"  Then  there  are  the  days,  and  the  months,"  said 
Faith. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Armstrong.  "  Keally,  the  days 
and  months  are  nowhere,  except  as  the  globe  measures 
them  out  in  space,  and  the  sunlight  scores  them  between 
the  poles ;  but  I  see  them  stretching  out,  before  and  after, 
in  little  oblong  mosaics,  set  in  lines,  for  weeks  and 
years." 

"  And  the  Sundays  a  little  longer  and  wider  and 
whiter  than  the  rest,"  put  in  Faith.  "  And  the  nights 
are  the  broad,  black  spaces  between." 

"  I  think  my  nights  are  steps  down,  from  one  day  to 
another,  and  of  no  perceptible  length  or  color.  At  least, 
that  is  what  they  used  to  be  when  I  was  a  child,  and  I 
have  never  got  rid  of  the  old  image." 

"  Then,"  resumed  the  minister,  "  what  sort  of  Geog- 
raphy do  we  really  learn  ?  How  much  of  a  notion 
do  we  get  of  Europe  and  Asia,  Africa  and  America? 
For  me,  I've  got  a  little  spectrum  of  an  Atlas  in  my 
head,  and  that  is  all.  My  idea  of  the  whole  globe 
wouldn't  cover  the  space  we  have  to  traverse  between 
here  and  Cross  Corners.  Just  look  out  there  to  the 
west,"  continued  he,  pointing  toward  the  sunset,  "  and 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

remember  that  you  only  see  three  or  four  miles,  and 
then  think  of  all  the  rest  that 'lies  between  this  and  the 
Hudson,  and  of  New  York,  and  Ohio,  and  Indiana, 
and  Illinois !  We  can  no  more  picture  the  outstretch  of 
the  continent, — away  out  beyond  the  Green  Ridge, 
and  the  Catskills,  and  the  Great  Lakes,  and  the  Missis- 
sippi, and  the  Rocky  Mountains,  to  the  forests  of  Oregon 
and  the  beaches  of  the  Pacific, — than  we  can  take 
eternity  into  our  thought !  " 

"  Don't  it  seem  strange,"  said  Faith,  in  a  subdued 
tone,  "  that  it  should  all  have  been  made  for  such  little 
lives  to  be  lived  in,  each  in  its  corner  ? " 

"  If  it  did  not  thereby  prove  these  little  lives  to  be 
but  the  beginning.  This  great  Beyond  that  we  get 
glimpses  of,  even  upon  earth,  makes  it  so  sure  to  us  that 
there  must  be  an  Everlasting  Life,  to  match  the  Infinite 
Creation.  God  puts  us,  as  He  did  Moses,  into  a  cleft 
of  the  rock,  that  we  may  catch  a  glimmer  of  His  glory 
as  He  goes  by;  and  then  He  tells  us  tha'.  one  day  we 
"  shall  know  even  as  also  we  are  known !  " 

"  And  I  suppose  it  ought  to  make  us  satisfied  to  h.e 
whatever  little  life  is  given  us  ?  "  said  Faith,  gently 
and  wistfully. 

Mr.  Armstrong  turned  toward  her,  and  looked 
earnestly  into  her  eyes. 

"  Has  that  thought  troubled  you,  too  ?  Kever  let  it 
do  so  again,  my  child !  Believe  that  however  little  of 
tangible  present  good  you  may  have,  you  have  the  un- 
seen good  of  heaven,  and  the  promise  of  all  things  to 
come." 

"  But  we  do  see  lives  about  us  in  the  world  that  seem 
to  be  and  to  accomplish  so  much !  " 

"  And  so  we  ask  why  ours  should  not  be  like  them  ? 
Yes;  all  souls  that  aspire,  must  question  that;  but  the 
11 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

answer  comes !  I  will  give  you,  some  day,  if  you  like, 
the  thought  that  comforted  me  at  a  time  when  that 
question  was  a  struggle." 

"  I  should  like !  "  said  Faith,  with  deeply  stirred  and 
grateful  emphasis. 

Then  they  drove  on  in  silence,  for  a  while ;  and  then 
the  minister,  pleasantly  and  easily,  brought  on  a  con- 
versation of  every-day  matters;  and  so  they  came  to 
Cross  Corners,  just  as  Mrs.  Gartney  was  gazing  a  little 
anxiously  out  of  the  window,  down  the  road. 

"  Father  is  coming,"  said  Faith,  reassuringly,  the  in- 
stant the  door  was  opened.  "  We  broke  a  shaft  in 
getting  through  a  great  drift,  and  he  had  to  go  and  bor- 
row a  sleigh.  Mr.  Armstrong  has  been  kind  enough  to 
bring  me  home,  mother." 

Mrs.  Gartney  urged  the  minister  to  come  in  and  join 
them  at  the  tea-table ;  but  "  it  was  late  in  the  week, — he 
had  writing  to  finish  at  home  that  evening, — he  would 
very  gladly  come  another  time." 

"  Mother !  "  cried  Faith,  presently,  moving  out  of  a 
dream  in  which  she  had  been  sitting  before  the  fire, — 
"  I  wonder  whether  it  has  been  two  hours,  or  two  weeks, 
or  two  years,  since  we  set  off  from  the  kitchen  door! 
I  have  seen  so  much,  and  I  have  heard  so  much.  I 
told  Mr.  Armstrong,  after  we  met  him,  that  I  had  been 
through  the  Alhambra  and  the  Vatican,  and  into  fairy- 
land, and  over  the  Alps.  And  after  that,  mother,"  she 
added,  low,  "  I  think  he  almost  took  me  into  heaven !  " 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  163 


A    "  LEADING." 

"  The  least  flower,  with  a  brimming  cup,  may  stand 
And  share  its  dew-drop  with  another  near." 

MBS.  BROWNING. 

GLORY  McWniEK  was  waiting  up  stairs,  in  Faith's 
pretty,  white,  dimity-hung  chamber. 

These  two  girls,  of  such  utterly  different  birth  and 
training,  were  drawing  daily  toward  each  other  across 
the  gulf  of  social  circumstance  that  separated  them. 
They  were  together  in  Mr.  Armstrong's  Bible  Class. 
Sunday  after  Sunday,  they  sat  side  by  side,  and  received 
the  same  beautiful  interpretation  of  truth  into  eager, 
listening  souls.  And,  as  Aunt  Henderson  said,  "  when 
we  take  our  Bible-meat  together,  why  not  the  meat  that 
perisheth  ?  " 

Faith  Gartney  came  to  know  much  of  Glory's  secret 
inner  nature  and  wants.  And  from  sitting  down  to- 
gether sometimes  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  in  the  south- 
west room  at  the  old  house,  to  look  over  the  lesson  for 
the  Sunday,  there  grew  up  a  little  plan  of  kindliness  and 
benefit  between  them. 

Twice  a  week,  now,  Glory  came  over,  and  found  her 
seat  and  her  books  ready  in  Miss  Faith's  pleasant  room, 
and  Faith  herself  waiting  to  impart  to  her,  or  to  put 
her  in  the  way  of  gathering,  those  bits  of  week-day 
knowledge  she  had  ignorantly  hungered  for  so  long. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Glory  made  quick  progress.  A  good,  plain,  founda- 
tion had  been  laid  during  the  earlier  period  of  her  stay 
with  Miss  Henderson,  by  a  regular  attendance,  half- 
daily,  at  the  district  school.  Aunt  Faith  said  "  nobody's 
time  belonged  to  anybody  that  knew  better  themselves, 
until  they  could  read,  and  write,  and  figure,  and  toll 
which  side  of  the  globe  they  lived  on."  Then,  too,  the 
girl's  indiscriminate  gleaning  from  such  books  as  had 
come  in  her  way,  through  all  these  years,  assorted  it- 
self gradually,  now,  about  new  facts,  like  patchwork 
that  had  been  laid  by  in  bits,  confusedly,  but  began  to  be 
arranged  in  symmetry,  and  to  grow  toward  a  whole. 
Or  rather, — for  knowledge,  in  its  accretion,  follows 
such  law, — that  which  had  been  held  loosely,  as  par- 
ticles, in  solution,  gathered  and  crystallized, — each 
atom  finding  its  sure  place,  and  building  up  forms  of 
light  and  beauty. 

Glory's  "  good  times  "  had,  verily,  begun  at  last. 

On  this  day  that  she  sat  waiting,  Faith  had  been 
called  down  by  her  mother  to  receive  some  village 
ladies  who  had  walked  over  to  Cross  Corners  to  pay  a 
visit.  Glory  had  time  for  two  or  three  chapters  of 
"  Ivanhoe,"  and  to  tell  Hendie,  who  strayed  in,  and 
begged  for  it,  Bridget  Foye's  old  story  of  the  little  red 
hen,  while  the  regular  course  of  topics  was  gone  through 
below,  of  the  weather, — the  new  minister, — the  last 
meeting  of  the  Dorcas  Society, — the  everlasting  wants 
and  helplessness  of  Mrs.  Sheffley  and  her  seven  chil- 
dren, and  whether  the  society  had  better  do  anything 
more  for  them, — the  trouble  in  the  west  district  school, 
and  the  question  "  where  the  Dorcas  bag  was  to  go  next 
time." 

At  last,  the  voices  and  footsteps  retreated,  through 
the  entry,  the  door  closed  somewhat  promptly  as  the 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

last  "  good-afternoon  "  was  said,  and  Faith  sprang  up 
the  narraw  staircase. 

There  were  a  lesson  in  Geography,  and  a  bit  of 
natural  Philosophy  to  be  done  first,  and  then  followed 
their  Bible  talk;  for  this  was  Saturday. 

Before  Glory  went  it  had  come  to  be  Faith's  practice 
always  to  read  to  her  some  bit  of  poetry, — a  gem  from 
Tennyson  or  Mrs.  Browning,  or  a  stray  poem  from  a 
magazine  or  paper  which  she  had  laid  by  as  worthy. 
This  was  as  we  give  children  a  cake  or  a  sugar-plum,  at 
parting,  to  carry  away  with  them. 

"  Glory,"  said  she,  to-day,  "  I'm  going  to  let  you 
share  a  little  treasure  of  mine, — something  Mr.  Arm- 
strong gave  me." 

Glory's  eyes  deepened  and  glowed. 

"  It  is  thoughts,"  said  Faith.  "  Thoughts  in  verse. 
I  shall  read  it  to  you,  because  I  think  it  will  just 
answer  you,  as  it  did  me.  Don't  you  feel,  sometimes, 
like  a  little  brook  in  a  deep  wood  ? " 

Glory's  gaze  never  moved  from  Faith's  face.  Her 
poetical  instinct  seized  the  image,  and  the  thought  of 
her  life  applied  it. 

"  All  alone,  and  singing  to  myself  ?  Yes,  I  did, 
Miss  Faith.  But  I  think  it  is  growing  lighter  and 
pleasanter  every  day.  I  think  I  am  getting — " 

"  Stop !  stop !  "  said  Faith.  "  Don't  steal  the  verses 
before  I  read  them !  You're  such  a  queer  child,  Glory ! 
One  never  can  tell  you  anything.  You  have  always  all 
but  got  it,  already." 

And  then  Faith  gave  her  pearls;  because  she  knew 
they  would  not  be  trampled  under  foot,  but  taken  into 
a  heart  and  held  there ;  and  because  just  such  a  rapt  and 
reverent  ecstasy  as  her  own  had  been  when  the  minister 
had  given  her,  in  fulfilment  of  his  promise,  this  thought 


1C(5  FAITH   GARTNERS   GIRLHOOD. 

of  his  for  the  comfort  that  was  in  it,  looked  out  from 
the  face  that  was  uplifted  to  hers,  radiant  with  a  joy  that 
of  one  taken  into  converse  with  the  angels. 

"  Up  in  the  wild,  where  no  one  comes  to  look, 
There  lives  and  sings,  a  little  lonely  brook  ; 
Liveth  and  singeth  in  the  dreary  pines, 
Yet  creepeth  on  to  where  the  daylight  shines. 

"  Pure  from'their  heaven,  in  mountain  chalice  caught, 
It  drinks  the  rains,  as  drinks  the  soul  her  thought ; 
And  down  dim  hollows,  where  it  winds  along, 
Bears  its  life-burden  of  unlistened  song. 

"  I  catch  the  murmur  of  its  undertone 
That  sigheth,  ceaselessly, — alone  !  alone ! 
And  hear,  afar,  the  Rivers  gloriously 
Shout  on  their  paths  toward  the  shining  sea  I 

"  The  voiceful  Rivers,  chanting  to  the  sun  ; 
And  wearing  names  of  honor,  every  one ; 
Outreaching  wide,  and  joining  hand  with  hand 
To  pour  great  gifts  along  the  asking  land. 

44  Ah,  lonely  brook  !  creep  onward  through  the  pines  ! 
Press  through  the  gloom,  to  where  the  daylight  shines  I 
Sing  on  among  the  stones,  and  secretly 
Feel  how  the  floods  are  all  akin  to  thee  1 

"  Drink  the  sweet  rain  the  gentle  heaven  sendeth  ; 
Hold  thine  own  path,  howeverward  it  tendeth ; 
For,  somewhere,  underneath  the  eternal  sky, 
Thou,  too,  slialt  find  the  Rivers,  by-and-by  !  " 

Faith's  voice  trembled  with  earnestness  as  she 
finished.  When  she  looked  up  from  the  paper  as  she  re- 
folded it,  tears  of  feeling  were  running  down  Glory's 
cheeks. 

"  Why,  the  little  brook  has  overflowed !  "  cried  Faith, 
playfully.  If  she  had  not  found  this  to  say,  she  would 
have  cried,  herself. 

"  Miss  Faith !  "  said  Glory,  "  I  ain't  sure  whether  I 
was  meant  to  tell ;  but  do  you  know  what  the  minister 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

has  asked  Miss  Henderson?  Perhaps  she  won't;  I'm 
afraid  not ;  it  would  be  too  good  a  time !  but  he  wants 
her  to  let  him  come  and  board  with  her !  Just  think  what 
it  would  be  for  him  to  be  in  the  house  with  us  all  the 
time !  Why,  Miss  Faith,  it  would  be  just  as  if  one  of 
those  great  Rivers  had  come  rolling  along  through  the 
dark  woods,  right  among  the  little  lonely  brooks !  " 

Faith  made  no  answer.  She  was  astonished.  Miss 
Henderson  had  said  nothing  of  it.  She  never  did  make 
known  her  subjects  of  deliberation  till  the  deliberations 
had  become  conclusions. 

"  Why,  you  don't  seem  glad !  " 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Faith,  slowly  and  quietly.  She 
was  strangely  conscious  at  the  moment  that  she  said  so, 
glad  as  she  would  be  if  Mr.  Armstrong  were  really  to 
come  so  near,  and  she  might  see  him  daily,  of  a  half- 
jealousy  that  Glory  should  be  nearer  still. 

It  was  quite  true  that  Mr.  Armstrong  had  this  wish. 
Hitherto,  he  had  been  at  the  house  of  the  elder  minister, 
Mr.  Holland.  But  the  three  months  had  expired, — Mr. 
Holland,  convinced  by  continued  weakness  and  the  grow- 
ing infirmities  of  his  age  that  his  active  labors  were 
ended,  had  offered  his  resignation  of  the  parochial 
charge ;  and  this  having  been  accepted,  a  unanimous  in- 
vitation had  been  given  to  Mr.  Armstrong  by  the  people 
to  remain  among  them  as  their  settled  pastor.  This  he 
had  not  yet  consented  to  do.  But  he  had  entered  upon 
another  engagement  of  six  months,  to  preach  for  them. 
Now  he  needed  a  permanent  home,  which  he  could  not 
conveniently  have  at  Mr.  Holland's. 

There  was  great  putting  of  heads  together  at  the 
"  Dorcas,"  about  it. 

Mrs.  Gimp  "  would  offer ;  but  then — there  was 
Serena,  and  folks  would  talk," 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Other  families  had  similar  holdbacks, — that  is  the 
word,  for  they  were  not  absolute  insuperabilities, — 
wary  mothers  were  waiting  until  it  should  appear  posi- 
tively necessary  that  somebody  should  waive  objection, 
and  take  the  homeless  pastor  in;  and  each  watched 
keenly  for  the  critical  moment  when  it  should  be  just 
late  enough,  and  not  too  late,  for  her  to  yield. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Armstrong  quietly  left  all  this  seeth- 
ing, and  walked  off  out  of  the  village,  one  day,  to 
Cross  Corners,  and  asked  Miss  Henderson  if  he 'might 
have  one  of  her  quaint,  pleasant,  old-fashioned  rooms. 

Miss  Henderson  was  deliberating. 

This  very  afternoon,  she  sat  in  the  southwest  tea- 
parlor,  with  her  knitting  forgotten  in  her  lap,  and  her 
eyes  searching  the  bright  western  sky,  as  if  for  a  gleam 
that  should  light  her  to  decision. 

"  It  ain't  that  I  mind  the  trouble.  And  it  ain't  that 
there  isn't  house-room.  And  it  ain't  that  I  don't  like 
the  minister,"  soliloquized  she,  after  a  way  she  had  of 
talking  over  matters  to  herself  when  she  and  the  old 
house  were  left  dreaming  together.  "  It's  whether  it 
would  be  respectable  common  sense.  I  ain't  going  to 
take  the  field  with  the  Gimps  and  the  Leatherbees,  nor 
to  have  them  think  it,  either. — She's  over  here  almost 
every  blessed  day  of  her  life.  I  might  as  well  try  to 
keep  the  sunshine  out  of  the  old  house,  as  to  keep  her ; 
and  I  should  be  about  as  likely  to  want  to  do  one  as  the 
other.  But  just  let  me  take  in  Mr.  Armstrong,  and 
there'd  be  all  the  eyes  in  the  village  watching.  There 
couldn't  so  much  as  a  cat  walk  in  or  out,  but  they'd 
know  it,  somehow.  And  they'd  be  sure  to  say  she  was 
running  after  the  minister." 

Miss  Henderson's  pronouns  were  not  precise  in  their 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

reference.  It  isn't  necessary  for  soliloquy  to  be  exact. 
She  understood  herself,  and  that  sufficed. 

"  It's  being  ridiculous  wouldn't  be  any  argument.  To 
be  sure,  he's  old  enough  to  be  her — uncle !  "  This  was 
not  emphasizing  the  absurdity  quite  so  strongly  or  so 
definitely  as  she  intended;  but  Aunt  Faith's  climaxes 
broke  down,  unexpectedly,  sometimes,  just  as  they 
culminated,  because  the  honest  fact  fell  short.  Her 
rhetoric  might  go  lame;  but  the  truth  came  never  halt 
or  maimed  from  her  upright  handling. 

"  It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  the  parish,  anyhow,"  she 
resumed,  "  to  let  those  Gimps  and  Leatherbees  get  him 
into  their  net ;  and  they'll  do  it  if  Providence  or  some- 
body don't  interpose.  I  wish  I  was  sure  whether  it  was 
a  leading  or  not !  " 

By-and-by,  after  a  silent  revolving,  in  which  her 
kindly  inclinations  toward  the  minister, — her  memories 
of  long  time,  when  that  young  brother  wrote  his  first 
sermons  in  the  pleasant  room  she  sat  in  now, — her 
shrewd  reading  of  plans  and  purposes  in  others, — her 
thought  for  Faith,  and  her  calculations  about  the  white 
hangings  with  the  ball  and  fringe  trimmings  that  must 
be  bleached  and  put  up  if  Mr.  Armstrong  came,  and 
how  soon  they  could  be  ready  for  him,  were  curiously 
mixed  up  and  interwoven, — she  reverted,  at  last,  as  she 
always  did,  to  that  question  of  its  being  a  "  leading," 
or  not ;  and,  taking  down  the  old  Bible  from  the  corner 
shelf,  she  laid  it  with  solemnity  on  the  little  light-stand 
at  her  side,  and  opened  it,  as  she  had  known  her  father 
do,  in  the  important  crises  of  his  life,  for  an  "  indica- 
tion." 

The  wooden  saddle  and  the  gun  were  not  all  that  had 
come  down  to  Aunt  Faith  from  the  primitive  days  of 
the  Puritan  settlers. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

The  leaves  parted  at  the  story  of  the  Good  Sam.ritan. 
Bible  leaves  are  apt  to  part,  as  the  heart  opens,  in 
accordance  with  long  habit  and  holy  use. 

That  evening,  while  Glory  was  washing  up  the  tea- 
things,  Aunt  Faith  put  on  cloak  and  hood,  and  walked 
over  to  Cross  Corners. 

"  No — I  won't  take  off  my  things,"  she  replied  to 
Mrs.  Gartney's  advance  of  assistance.  "  IVe  just  come 
over  to  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do.  I've  made  up 
my  mind  to  take  the  minister  to  board.  And  when  the 
washing  and  ironing's  out  of  the  way,  next  week,  I  shall 
fix  up  a  room  for  him,  and  he'll  come." 

"  That's  a  capital  plan,  Aunt  Faith !  "  said  her 
nephew,  with  a  tone  of  pleased  animation.  "  Cross 
Corners  will  be  under  obligation  to  you.  Mr.  Arm- 
strong is  a  man  whom  I  greatly  respect  and  admire." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Miss  Henderson.  "  And  if  I  didn't, 
when  a  man  is  beset  with  thieves  all  the  way  from 
Jerusalem  to  Jericho,  it's  time  for  some  kind  of  a 
Samaritan  to  come  along." 

Next  day,  Mis'  Battis  heard  the  news,  and  had  her 
word  of  comment  to  offer. 

"  She's  got  room  enough  for  him,  if  that's  all ;  but 
I  wouldn't  a  believed  she'd  have  let  herself  be  put 
about  and  upset  so,  if  it  was  for  John  the  Baptist !  I 
always  thought  she  was  setter'n  an  old  hen !  But  then, 
she's  gittin'  into  years,  and  it's  kinder  handy,  I  s'pose, 
havin'  a  minister  round  the  house,  sayin'  she  should  be 
took  anyways  sudden !  " 

Village  comments  it  would  be  needless  to  attempt  to 
chronicle. 

April  days  began  to  wear  their  tearful  beauty,  and 
the  southwest  room  at  the  old  house  was  given  up  to 
Mr.  Armstrong. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

j  PAUL. 

"Standing,  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet ! " 

LONGFELLOW. 

GL.ORY  had  not  been  content  with  the  utmost  she 
could  find  to  do  in  making  the  southwest  room  as  clean, 
and  bright,  and  fresh,  and  perfect  in  its  appointments  as 
'her  zealous  labor  and  Miss  Henderson's  nice,  old- 
fashioned  methods  and  materials  afforded  possibility 
for.  Twenty  times  a  day,  during  the  few  that  inter- 
vened between  its  fitting  up  and  Mr.  Armstrong's  oc- 
cupation of  it,  she  darted  in,  to  settle  a  festoon  of  fringe, 
or  to  pick  a  speck  from  the  carpet,  or  to  move  a  chair  a 
hair's-breadth  this  way  or  that,  or  to  smooth  an  invisible 
crease  in  the  counterpane,  or,  above  all,  to  take  a  pleased 
survey  of  everything  once  more,  and  to  wonder  how  the 
minister  would  like  it. 

So  well,  indeed,  he  liked  it,  when  he  had  taken  full 
possession,  that  he  seemed  to  divine  the  favorite  room 
j  must  have  been  relinquished  to  him,  and  to  scruple  at 
keeping  it  quite  solely  to  himself. 

In  the  pleasant  afternoons,  when  the  spring  sun  got 
round  to  his  westerly  windows,  and  away  from  the 
southeast  apartment,  whither  Miss  Henderson  had 
betaken  herself,  her  knitting-work,  and  her  Bible,  and 
where  now  the  meals  were  always  spread,  he  would  open 


FAITH   GAKTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

his  door,  and  let  the  pleasantness  stray  out  across  the 
passage,  and  into  the  keeping-room,  and  would  often 
take  a  book,  and  come  in,  himself,  also,  with  the  sun- 
light. Then  Glory,  busy  in  the  kitchen,  just  beyond, 
would  catch  words  of  conversation,  or  of  reading,  or 
even  be  called  in  to  hear  the  latter.  And  she  began  to 
tli ink  that  there  were  good  times,  truly,  in  this  world, 
and  that  even  she  was  "  in  'em !  " 

April    days,    as   they  lengthened    and   brightened;, 
brought  other  things,  also,  to  pass. 

The  Rushleigh  party  had  returned  from  Europe. 

Faith  had  a  note  from  Margaret.  The  second  wed- 
ding was  close  at  hand,  and  would  she  not  come  down  ? 

But  her  services  as  bridesmaid  were  not  needed  this 
time;  there  was  nothing  so  exceedinly  urgent  in  the 
invitation, — Faith's  intimacy  was  with  the  Rushleighs, 
not  the  Livingstons, — that  she  could  not  escape  its  ac- 
ceptance if  she  desired ;  and  so — there  was  a  great  deal 
to  be  done  in  summer  preparation,  which  Mis'  Battis, 
with  her  deliberate  dignity,  would  never  accomplish 
alone;  also,  there  was  the  forget-me-not  ring  lying  in 
her  box  of  ornaments,  that  gave  her  a  little  troubled 
perplexity  as  often  as  she  saw  it  there;  and  Faith  ex- 
cused herself  in  a  graceful  little  note,  and  stayed  at 
Cross  Corners,  helping  her  mother  fold  away  the  crimson 
curtains,  and  get  up  the  white  muslin  ones,  make  up 
summer  sacks  for  Hendie,  and  retouch  her  own  simple 
wardrobe,  which  this  year  could  receive  little  addition. 

Kind,  sisterly  fingers  helped  Hendie  now,  in  his 
morning  robings;  and  sweet  words  and  pretty  stories 
replaced  the  old,  taunting  rhyme ;  and  there  were  little, 
easy,  pleasant  lessons  after  the  rooms  were  all  made  nice 
for  the  day ;  and  on  Sunday  there  was  a  special  happy 
walk  up  over  the  Ridge,  when  Faith  simplified  for  him 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  173 

and  made  beautiful  to  his  childish  comprehension  the 
truth,  whatever  it  might  have  been,  that  a  stronger 
soul  had  fed  herself  with,  a  few  hours  before. 

Faith  was  finding  work,  daily,  at  her  hand,  to  do. 
The  lessons  with  Glory  went  on ;  and  the  Bible-class,- — 
Faith's  one  great,  weekly  joy, — to  which  Mr.  Arm 
strong  walked  with  them,  in  the  bright,  balmy,  Sunday 
mornings,  giving  them  beautiful  words,  or  keeping  beau- 
tiful silence  as  they  went,  so  that,  like  the  disciples, 
journeying  toward  Emmaus,  "  their  hearts  burned  with- 
in them  by  the  way."  After  the  Sunday-school,  Glory 
disappeared  into  her  corner  seat  in  Miss  Henderson's 
pew,  and  when  the  service  in  church  was  ended,  took 
her  quiet  and  speedy  way  home,  alone,  reaching  it 
enough  earlier  than  her  mistress  to  have  removed  her 
outside  garments,  put  on  a  clean  calico  apron,  and  begun 
to  dish  the  simple  dinner  by  the  time  Miss  Henderson 
and  Mr.  Armstrong  came  in. 

However  joyfully  and  gratefully  she  might  feel  her- 
self welcomed  upon  equal  ground  where  all  are  indeed 
equal,  she  was  never  led  into  any  forgetfulness,  thereby, 
of  the  difference  of  outward  position,  and  of  daily  duty. 
Perhaps  they  whom  God  in  His  wise  will,  may  have 
placed  a  little  higher  by  gift  and  opportunity,  lessen 
really  nothing  of  their  height  to  the  eyes  of  others  below, 
when  they  reach  down  willing  hands  to  draw  them,  also, 
up. 

One  day,  Aunt  Faith  had  twisted  her  foot  by  a  slip 
upon  the  stairs,  and  was  kept  at  home.  Glory,  of  course, 
was  obliged  to  remain  also,  as  Miss  Henderson  was  con- 
fined, helpless,  to  her  chair  or  sofa. 

Faith  Gartney  and  the  minister  walked  down  the 
pleasant  lane,  and  along  the  quiet  road  to  the  village 
church,  together. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Faith  had  fresh,  white  ribbons,  to-day,  upon  her 
simple  straw  bonnet,  and  delicate  flowers  and  deep  green 
leaves  about  her  face.  She  seemed  like  an  outgrowth 
of  the  morning,  so  purely  her  sweet  look  and  fair 
unsulliedness  of  attire  reflected  and  interpreted,  as  it 
were,  the  significance  of  the  day's  own  newness  and 
beauty. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong,  presently,  after 
the  morning  greeting  had  passed,  and  they  had  walked 
a  few  paces,  silently,  "  do  you  know  that  you  are  one 
of  Glory's  saints,  Miss  Faith  ? " 

"  Faith's  wondering  eyes  looked  out  their  question- 
ing astonishment  from  a  deep  rosiness  that  overspread 
her  face. 

The  minister  was  not  apt  to  make  remarks  of  at  all  a 
personal  bearing.  Neither  was  this  allusion  to  saint- 
hood quite  to  have  been  looked  for,  from  his  lips.  Faith 
could  scarcely  comprehend. 

"  I  found  her  this  morning,  as  I  came  out  to  cross 
the  field,  sitting  on  the  door-stone  with  her  Bible  and  a 
rosary  of  beautiful,  small,  variously-tinted  shells  upon 
her  lap.  I  stopped  to  speak  with  her,  and  asked  leave  to 
look  at  them.  '  They  were  given  to  me  when  I  was 
very  little/  she  said.  f  A  lady  sent  them  from  Rome. 
The  Pope  blessed  them ! '  '  They  are  very  beautiful,'  I 
said,  t  and  a  blessing,  if  that  mean  a  true  man's  prayer, 
can  never  be  worthless.  But —  I  asked  her,  l  do  you  use 
these,  Glory  ? '  '  Not  as  she  did  once,'  she  said.  She 
had  almost  forgotten  about  that.  She  knew  the  larger 
beads  stood  for  saints,  and  the  smaller  ones  between  were 
prayers.  '  But/  she  went  on,  '  it  isn't  for  my  prayers 
I  keep  them  now.  I've  named  some  of  my  saints'  beads 
for  the  people  that  have  done  me  the  most  good  in  my 
life,  and  been  the  kindest  to  me ;  and  the  little  ones  are 


FAITH    GARTXEY'S    GIllLHOOD. 

thoughts,  and  things  they've  taught  me.  This  large 
one,  with  the  queer  spots,  is  Miss  Henderson ;  and  this 
lovely  rose-colored  one  is  Miss  Faith;  and  these  are 
Katie  Ryan  and  Bridget  Foye ;  but  you  don't  know 
about  them.'  And  then  she  timidly  told  me  that  the 
white  one  next  the  cross  was  mine.  The  child  humbled 
me,  Miss  Faith !  It  is  nearly  fearful,  sometimes,  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  what  one  is  to  some  trustful  human 
soul,  who  looks  through  one  toward  the  Highest !  " 

Faith  had  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Glory  is  such  a  strange  girl,"  said  she.  "  She  seems 
to  have  an  instinct  for  things  that  other  people  are  edu- 
cated up  to." 

"  She  has  seized  the  spirit  of  the  dead  Roman  calen- 
dar, and  put  it  into  this  rosary.  Our  saints  are  the 
spirits  through  whom  God  wills  to  send  us  of  His  own. 
Whatever  becomes  to  us  a  channel  of  His  truth  and  love 
we  must  involuntarily  canonize  and  consecrate.  Woe, 
if  by  the  same  channel  ever  an  offence  cometh !  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  before,"  said  Faith ;  "  but  I 
don't  wonder  the  Romans  like  to  believe  as  they  do 
about  the  saints  and  the  pope.  If  it  only  were  true 
that  we  could  know  exactly  into  whose  hands  had  come 
down  directly  what  Christ  gave  to  Peter !  " 

"  We  know  what  is  better,"  said  Mr.  Armstrong. 
"  We  know  that  we  can  stand  by  Christ's  side  with 
Peter,  and  receive  it  to  ourselves." 

Faith's  lips  parted  eagerly,  and  then  closed  again, 
like  one  afraid  to  speak. 

"  What  is  it,  my  child  ?  "  asked  the  minister,  with  a 
kind  persuasiveness. 

"  Mr.  Armstrong !  "  said  Faith,  "  you  draw  me  out 
to  say  things  that  I  wonder,  afterward,  how  I  have 
dared!  I  suppose  it  is  wrong — it  must  be — but  I 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

cannot  help  thinking,  sometimes,  why  our  Saviour  did 
not  come  into  the  world  to  stay !  It  wants  him  so." 

"  Does  He  not  stay  ?  " 

"  In  the  way  you  mean — yes,"  replied  Faith,  gently 
and  fearfully.  "  But  that  is  so  hard  for  people  to  be- 
lieve and  remember." 

"  I  mean  as  literal  a  thing  as  the  truth  can  be.  I 
mean  that  when  Christ  said,  '  I  am  with  you  to  the  end 
of  the  world,'  he  only  said  that  which  was — which,  by 
the  laws  of  things,  could  not  help  being — simply,  and 
without  metaphor,  true." 

Faith  almost  paused  in  her  walk  to  listen. 

"  Events  and  deeds  are  not  done  with  in  the  moment 
they  are  enacted.  Does  a  sublime  instant  in  history 
pass  by  into  nothingness,  except  for  the  memory  that  it 
has  been?  God  is  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and 
Jacob.  He  is  not  the  God  of  the  dead,  but  of  the  living. 
It  is  only  our  finiteness  that  compels  us  to  receive  in 
succession,  and  pass  over  into  what  we  call  the  past. 
The  past  is  back  again  to  whatever  soul,  by  sympathy, 
lives  keenly  in  any  instant  of  it.  It  is  all  God's  Present. 
We  need  not  say,  *  Oh,  if  we  had  lived  in  the  days 
when  Christ  walked  here  upon  the  earth ! '  We  do 
live  wherever  we  truly  find  our  life.  Christ's  Life 
— every  moment  of  it — is  an  everlasting  Presence  in 
the  earth.  The  hem  of  his  garment  sweeps  to  the  far- 
thest edge  of  being.  He  sits  at  the  head  of  the  feast; 
and  sends  the  cup  of  blessing  down ;  and  it  matters  not 
whether  John,  upon  his  bosom,  or  Judge,  or  James,  or 
Peter,  or  you  and  I,  with  what  we  call  the  nineteen 
centuries  between,  receive  it.  It  is  one  Act — one  Gift 
— forever !  " 

They  were  silent,  then,  again,  until  they  had  almost 
reached  the  church. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  177 

Mr.  Armstrong  turned  to  Faith  once  more,  before  they 
entered. 

"  Read  all  the  Gospel  scenes  with  that  thought.  Go 
back  into  them,  and  live  them.  And  believe  always, 
that  if  so  jour  soul  can  go  to  Christ,  across  all  time, 
His  spirit  can  no  less  come  to  you !  " 

Are  these  too  grave  and  solemn  pages  for  a  story? 
Grave  and  solemn  is  our  life,  also;  and  the  deep 
thoughts  do  come,  and  no  narration  can  be  true  in  fact 
or  purpose,  which  shall  leave  them  out.  I  do  not  think 
the  girl  of  eighteen  who  feels  the  soul  within  her,  will 
pass  them  by  unread,  any  more  than  if  a  high  and  ear- 
nest spirit,  like  that  I  seek  here  to  delineate,  have  ever 
met  her  in  her  world,  she  can  have  done  other  than  hail 
it  reverently  and  gladly.  Thank  God,  so  His  truth,  hath 
even  already  spread,  that  no  wide  circle  can  be  drawn  in 
fact  or  fancy  which  may  not  easily  include  some  such ! 
There  is  no  life  so  frivolous  that  a  holy  day  is  not  offered 
it  once  in  seven.  Shall  we  write  books  that  tell  of  years, 
and  have  no  Sabbaths  in  them  ?  If  I  would  do  this,  it 
would  be  impossible  for  me  to  tell  the  story  of  Faith's 
girlhood  truly,  and  not  give  therein,  however  faintly 
and  incidentally,  something  of  the  deeper  influences 
that  wrought  upon  her  nature ;  nor  could  I  speak  of  this 
life-friend  of  hers,  and  not  show  him  as  he  was,  in  his 
daily  word  and  living. 

,     Perhaps  Faith  was  nearly  the  only  person  in  church, 

i  to-day,  who  did  not  notice  that  there  were  strangers 

in  the  pew  behind  the  Gimps.    When  she  came  out,  she 

was  joined ;  and  not  by  strangers.    Margaret  and  Paul 

Rushleigh  came  eagerly  to  her  side. 

"  We  came  out  to  Lakeside  to  stay  a  day  or  two  with 
the  Morrises ;  and  ran  away  from  them  here,  purposely 
to  meet  you.    And  we  mean  to  be  very  good,  and  go  to 
12 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

church  all  day,  if  you  will  take  us  home  with  you  mean- 
while." 

Faith,  between  her  surprise,  her  pleasure,  her  embar- 
rassment, the  rush  of  old  remembrance,  and  a  quick, 
apprehensive  thought  of  Mis'  Battis  and  her  probable 
arrangements,  made  almost  an  awkard  matter  of  her 
reply.  But  her  father  and  mother  came  up,  welcomed 
'  the  Rushleighs  cordially,  and  the  five  were  presently 
on  their  way  toward  Cross  Corners,  and  Faith  had  re- 
covered sufficient  self-possession  to  say  something  be- 
yond mere  words  of  course. 

Paul  Rushleigh  looked  very  handsome!  And  very 
glad,  too,  to  see  shy  Faith,  who  kept  as  invisible  as 
might  be  at  Margaret's  other  side,  and  looked  there,  in 
her  simple  spring  dress  contrasted  with  Margaret's  rich 
and  fashionable,  though  also  simple  and  lady-like  at- 
tire, like  a  field  daisy  beside  a  garden  rose. 

Margaret  was  charmed  with  everything.  With  being 
at  Kinnicutt,  with  the  day,  with  the  sermon,  with  Cross 
Corners,  and  the  house;  most  of  all,  with  Faith's  own 
bright  chamber,  where  the  blossoming  elm-boughs  wei  ."> 
swaying  in  at  the  open  windows,  and  with  the  room  be- 
low, whither  she  was  ushered  when  bonnet  and  mantle 
had  been  removed,  and  where  the  door  was  thrown  back 
that  gave  out  upon  the  grassy  slope,  fresh  with  its  tender 
green,  and  let  in  the  breaths  of  budding  shrubs  and  sun- 
kissed  soil. 

Faith  couldn't  help  being  glad  that  the  warm  spring 
noontide  allowed  and  suggested  this  arrangement. 

"  It's  a  little,  old  house ;  "  said  she  to  Miss  Rush- 
leigh, who  was  enthusiastically  praising  each  new  as- 
pect ;  "  but  we  can  let  in  all  out  doors,  you  see,  and  that 
makes  it  large  enough." 

"  Who  wants  brick  and  mortar  in  the  country  ? " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

asked  Margaret,  with  a  disdain  of  all  but  what  she  saw 
before  her. 

Faith  remembered,  secretly,  the  winds  and  sleet  of  a 
few  months  back,  and  their  closed  doors  and  snuggery 
of  half  a  house,  and  doubted  whether  her  friend  would 
quite  have  weathered  and  endured  all  this,  for  the  after- 
joy  of  May  or  June.  We  stand,  serene,  at  sunny  points 
in  life,  and  to  them  who  smile  at  seeing  us  glad  say 
nothing  of  the  interval  of  storms! 

Dinner  was  of  no  moment.  There  was  only  roast 
chicken,  dressed  the  day  before,  and  reheated  and  served 
with  hot  vegetables  since  their  coming  in,  and  a  custard- 
pudding,  and  some  pastry-cakes  that  Faith's  fingers 
had  shaped,  and  coffee;  but  they  drank  in  balm  and 
swallowed  sunshine,  and  the  essence  of  all  that  was  to  be 
concrete  by-and-by  in  fruitful  fields  and  gardens.  And 
they  talked  of  old  times!  Three  years  old,  nearly! 
And  Faith  and  Margaret  laughed,  and  Mrs.  Gartney 
listened,  and  dispensed  dinner,  or  spoke  gently  now  and 
then,  and  Paul  did  his  cleverest  with  Mr.  Gartney,  so 
that  the  latter  gentleman  declared  afterward  that 
"young  Rushleigh  was  a  capital  fellow;  well  posted; 
his  father's  million  didn't  seem  to  have  spoiled  him  yet." 

Altogether,  this  unexpected  visit  infused  great  life  at 
Cross  Corners. 

Why  was  it  that  Faith,  when  she  thought  it  all  over, 
tried  to  weigh  so  very  nicely  just  the  amount  of  glad- 
ness she  had  felt;  and  was  dimly  conscious  of  a  vague 
misgiving,  deep  down,  lest  her  father  and  mother  might 
possibly  be  a  little  more  glad  than  she  was  quite  ready  to 
have  them?  What  made  her  especially  rejoice  that 
Saidie  and  the  strawberries  had  not  come  yet  ? 

There  are  certain  shadows  of  feelings  so  faint,  so  in- 
definite, that  when  we  look  fully  at  them,  they  are  no 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

longer  there.  Faith  could  surely  analyze  neither  her 
pleasure  nor  her  doubt. 

When  Paul  Rushleigh  took  her  hand  at  parting, — 
Faith  stood,  ungloved,  on  the  great  door-stone  under  the 
elms,  Paul  and  Margaret  having  accompanied  her  home 
from  afternoon  church,  before  setting  out  on  their  walk 
to  Lakeside,  whither  they  must  return,  they  said,  for 
the  Morrises'  late  dinner, — he  glanced  down,  as  he  did 
so,  at  the  fair  little  fingers,  and  then  up,  inquiringly,  at 
Faith's  face.  Her  eyes  fell,  and  the  color  rose,  till  it  be- 
came an  indignation  at  itself.  She  grew  hot,  for  days 
afterward,  many  a  time,  as  she  remembered  it.  Who 
has  not  blushed  at  the  self -suspicion  of  blushing  ? 

Who  has  not  blushed  at  the  simple  recollection  of 
having  blushed  before?  On  Monday,  this  happened. 
Faith  went  over  to  the  Old  House,  to  inquire  about 
Aunt  Henderson's  foot,  and  to  sit  with  her,  if  she 
should  wish  it,  for  an  hour.  She  chose  the  hour  at  which 
she  thought  Mr.  Armstrong  usually  walked  to  the  vil- 
lage. Somehow,  greatly  as  she  enjoyed  all  the  minister's 
kindly  words,  and  each  moment  of  his  accidental 
presence,  she  had,  of  late,  almost  invariably  taken  this 
time  for  coming  over  to  see  Aunt  Faith.  A  secret 
womanly  instinct,  only,  it  was ;  waked  into  no  conscious- 
ness, and  but  ignorantly  aware  of  its  own  prompting. 

To-day,  however,  Mr.  Armstrong  had  not  gone  out. 
Some  writing  that  he  was  tempted  to  do,  contrary  to 
his  usual  Monday  habit,  had  detained  him  within. 
And  so,  just  as  Miss  Henderson,  having  given  the  his- 
tory of  her  slip,  and  the  untoward  wrenching  of  her  foot, 
and  its  present  condition,  to  Faith's  inquiries,  asked  her 
suddenly,  "  if  they  hadn't  had  some  city  visitors  yester- 
day, and  what  sent  them  flacketting  over  from  Lake- 
side to  church  in  the  village  ?  "  the  minister  walked  in. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

If  he  hadn't  heard,  she  might  not  have  done  it ;  but,  with 
the  abrupt  question,  came,  as  abruptly,  the  hot  memory 
of  yesterday ;  and  with  those  other  eyes,  beside  the 
doubled  keenness  of  Aunt  Faith's  over  her  spectacles, 
upon  her,  it  was  so  much  worse  if  she  should,  that  of 
course  she  couldn't  help  doing  it !  She  colored  up,  and 
up,  till  the  very  roots  of  her  soft  hair  tingled,  and  a 
quick  shame  wrapped  her  as  in  a  flaming  garment. 

The  minister  saw,  and  read.  ~Not  quite  the  obvious 
inference  Faith  might  fear, — he  had  a  somewhat  pro- 
founder  knowledge  of  nature  than  that,— but  what  per- 
suaded him  there  was  a  thought,  at  least,  between  the 
two  who  met  yesterday,  more  than  of  a  mere  chance 
greeting ;  it  might  not  lie  so  much  with  Faith  as  with  the 
other;  yet  it  had  the  power, — even  the  consciousness 
of  i+s  unspoken  being,  to  send  the  crimson  to  her  face. 
What  kept  the  crimson  there  and  deepened  it,  he  knew 
quite  well.  He  knew  the  shame  was  at  having  blushed 
at  all. 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Armstrong  remembered  that  blush, 
and  pondered  it,  almost  as  long  as  Faith  herself.  In 
the  little  time  that  he  had  felt  himself  her  friend,  he 
had  grown  to  recognize  so  fully,  and  to  prize  so  dearly, 
her  truth,  her  purity,  her  high-mindedness,  her  rever- 
ence, that  no  new  influence  could  show  itself  in  her  life, 
without  touching  his  solicitous  love.  Was  this  young 
man  worthy  of  a  blush  from  Faith  ?  Was  there  a  height 
in  his  nature  answering  to  the  reach  of  hers  ?  Was  the 
quick,  impulsive  pain  that  came  to  him  in  the  thought 
of  how  much  that  rose-hue  of  forehead  and  cheek  might 
mean,  an  intuition  of  his  stronger  and  more  instructed 
soul  of  a  danger  to  the  child  that  she  might  not  dream  ? 
Be  it  as  it  might,  Roger  Armstrong  pondered.  He 
would  also  watch. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PEESSUEE. 

"To  be  warped,  unconsciously,  by  the  magnetic  influence  of 
all  around  is  the  destiny,  to  a  certain  extent,  of  even  the  greatest 
souls."  OAKFIELD. 

SOMETIMES  there  springs  up  in  a  quiet  life  a  period 
when  all  its  elements  seem  fermenting  together;  when, 
emphatically,  in  more  than  the  common  meaning  of  the 
common  phrase,  "  something  seems  brewing ;  "  when  all 
sorts  of  unexpected  conjunctures  and  combinations  arise, 
and  amid  a  multitude  of  strange  and  unforseen  forces, 
one  is  impelled  forward  to  some  new  path. 

It  is  for  Life, — not  so  much,  even,  for  Death, — 
that  we  are  to  be  "  ready."  Ready  for  God's  call,  that 
comes  to  us  in  an  hour  when  we  think  not,  and  demands 
all  the  strength  we  should  have  grown  to,  to  enable  us 
to  decide  and  act.  Ah !  the  many  foolish  ones,  who,  with 
lamps  untrimmed,  are  in  no  plight  to  meet  the  exigence 
of  circumstance,  or  the  flash  of  opportunity,  but  are 
swayed  hither  or  thither  into  ways  that  were  never 
planned  for  them  in  God's  projection  of  their  lives,  but 
wherein  they  stumble,  or  are  left,  darkly,  while  His 
golden  moment  goes  by ! 

June  came,  and  Saidie  Gartney.  Not  for  flowers,  or 
strawberries,  merely ;  but  for  father's  and  mother's  con- 
sent that,  in  a  few  weeks,  when  flowers  and  straw- 
berries should  have  fully  come,  there  should  be  a  mar- 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

riage  feast  made  for  her  in  the  simple  home,  and  she 
should  go  forth  into  the  gay  world  again,  the  bride  of 
a  wealthy  New  York  banker. 

Aunt  Etherege  and  Saidie  filled  the  house.  With 
finery,  with  bustle,  with  important  presence. 

Miss  Gartney's  engagement  had  been  sudden ;  her 
marriage  was  to  be  spieedy.  Half-a-dozen  seamstresses, 
and  as  many  sewing-machines,  were  busy  in  New  York, 
• — hands,  feet,  and  wheels, — in  making  up  the  delicate 

draperies  for  the  trousseau;  and  Madame  A was 

frantic  with  the  heap  of  elaborate  dresses  that  was  thrust 
upon  her  hands,  and  must  be  ready  for  the  thirtieth. 

Mrs.  Gartney  and  Faith  had  enough  to  do,  to  put  the 
house  and  themselves  in  festival  trim.  Hendie  was 
spoiled  with  having  no  lessons,  and  more  toys  and  sugar- 
plums than  he  knew  what  to  do  with.  Mr.  Selmore's 
comings  and  goings  made  special  ebullitions,  weekly, 
where  was  only  a  continuous  lesser  effervescence  before. 
Mis'  Battis  had  not  been  able  to  subside  into  an  arm- 
chair since  the  last  day  of  May. 

Faith  found  great  favor  in  the  eyes  of  her  brother-in- 
law  elect.  He  pronounced  her  a  "  naive,  piquante  little 
person,"  and  already  there  was  talk  of  how  pleasant 
it  would  be,  to  have  her  in  Madison  Square,  and  show 
her  to  the  world.  Faith  said  nothing  to  this,  but  in  her 
heart  she  clung  to  Kinnicutt. 

Glory  thought  Miss  Gartney  wonderful.  Even  Mr. 
Armstrong  spoke  to  Aunt  Faith  of  the  striking  beauty 
of  her  elder  niece. 

"  I  don't  know  how  she  does  look,"  Aunt  Faith  re- 
plied, with  all  her  ancient  gruffness.  "  I  see  a  great 
show  of  flounces,  and  manners,  and  hair ;  but  they  don't 
look  as  if  they  all  grew,  natural.  I  can't  make  her  out, 
amongst  all  that.  Now,  Faith's  just  Faith.  You  see 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

her  prettinese  the  minute  you  look  at  her,  as  you  do  a 
flower's." 

"  There  are  not  many  like  Miss  Faith,"  replied  Mr. 
Armstrong.  "  I  never  knew  but  one  other  who  wore  so 
the  fresh,  pure  beauty  of  God's  giving." 

His  voice  was  low  and  quiet,  and  his  eye  looked  afar, 
as  he  spoke. 

Glory  went  away,  and  sat  down  on  the  door-stone. 
There  was  a  strange  tumult  at  her  heart.  In  the  midst, 
a  noble  joy.  About  it,  a  disquietude,  as  of  one  who 
feels  shut  out, — alone. 

"  I  don't  know  what  ails  me.  I  wonder  if  I  ain't 
glad!  Of  course,  it's  nothing  to  me.  I  ain't  in  it. 
But  it  must  be  beautiful  to  be  so!  And  to  have  such 
words  said !  She  don't  know  what  a  sight  the  minister 
thinks  of  her!  I  know.  I  knew  before.  It's  beauti- 
ful— but  I  ain't  in  it.  Only,  I  think  I've  got  the  feeling 
of  it  all.  And  I'm  glad  it's  real,  somewhere.  Some 
way,  I  seem  to  have  so  much  here,  that  never  grows  out 
into  anything.  Maybe  I'd  be  beautiful  if  it  did !  " 

So  talked  Glory,  interjectionally,  with  herself. 

In  the  midst  of  these  excited  days,  there  came  two 
letters  to  Mr.  Gartney. 

One  was  from  a  gentleman  in  Michigan,  in  relation  to 
some  land  Mr.  Gartney  owned  there,  taken  years  ago, 
at  a  very  low  valuation,  for  a  debt.  This  was  likely, 
from  the  rapid  growth  and  improvement  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, to  become,  within  a  few  years,  perhaps,  a  prop- 
erty of  some  importance.  * 

"  By-and-by,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  to  whom  he  had 
handed  the  letter  across  the  table  for  perusal,  "  I  must 
try  and  get  out  there,  and  look  up  that  Owasso  farm  of 
mine." 

The  other  letter  was  from  his  son,  James  Gartney, 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

in  San  Francisco.  The  young  man  urged  his  father  to 
consider  whether  it  might  not  be  a  good  idea  for  him  to 
come  out  and  join  him  in  California.  "  You  are  well 
out  of  business,  there,"  he  wrote,  "  and  when  you  begin 
to  feel  like  trying  something  again,  why  not  come 
round  ?  There  is  always  plenty  to  be  done  here,  and  the 
climate  would  just  suit  you.  That,  and  the  voyage 
would  set  you  up,  right  off." 

Mr.  Gartney,  by  his  year  of  comparative  rest,  and 
country  air  and  living,  had  gained  strength  that  he  be- 
gan to  be  impatient,  now,  to  use.  An  invalid's  first 
vigor  is  like  a  schoolboy's  coin,  that  "burns  in  his 
pocket."  He  is  in  a  wonderful  hurry  to  do  something 
with  it.  Mrs.  Gartney  saw  that  Cross  Corners  would 
not  limit  him  long,  and  began  to  feel  her  old  anxiety 
creeping  up,  lest  he  should  rush,  impulsively,  into  risk 
and  excitement  and  worry  again. 

James  Gartney's  proposal  evidently  roused  his  at- 
tention. It  was  a  great  deal  to  think  of,  certainly ;  but 
it  was  worth  thinking  of,  too.  James  had  married  in 
San  Francisco,  had  a  pleasant  home  there,  and  was 
prospering.  Many  old  business  friends  had  gone  from 
Mishaumok,  in  the  years  when  the  great  flood  of  enter- 
prise set  westward  across  the  continent,  and  were  build- 
ing up  name  and  influence  in  the  Golden  Land.  The 
idea  found  a  place  in  his  brain,  and  clung  there.  Only, 
there  was  Faith!  But  things  might  came  round  so 
that  even  this  thought  need  to  be  no  hindrance  to  the 
scheme. 

Changes,  and  plans,  and  interests,  and  influences  were 
gathering ;  all  to  bear  down  upon  one  young  life. 

"  More  news !  "  said  Mr.  Gartney,  one  morning,  com- 
ing in  from  his  walk  to  the  village  post-office,  to  the 
pleasant  sitting-room?  or  morning-room,  as  Mrs.  Ether- 


186  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

ege  and  Saidie  called  it,  where  Faith  was  helping  her 
sister  write  a  list  of  the  hundreds  who  were  to  receive 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Selraore's  cards, — "  At  Home,  in  Sep- 
tember, in  Madison  Square."  "  Whom  do  you  think  I 
met  in  the  village,  this  morning  ?  " 

Everybody  looked  upland  everybody's  imagination 
took  a  discursive  leap  among  possibilities,  and  then 
everybody,  of  course,  asked  "  Whom  ?  " 

"  Old  Jacob  Rushleigh,  himself.  He  has  taken  a 
house  at  Lakeside,  for  the  summer.  And  he  has  bought 
the  new  mills  just  over  the  river.  That  is  to  give  young 
Paul  something  to  do,  I  imagine.  Kinnicutt  has  begun 
to  grow;  and  when  places  or  people  once  take  a  start, 
there's  no  knowing  what  they  may  come  to.  Here's 
something  for  you,  Faithie,  that  I  dare  say  tells  all 
about  it." 

And  he  tossed  over  her  shoulder,  upon  the  table,  a 
letter,  bearing  her  name,  in  Margaret  Rushleigh's  chirog- 
raph, upon  the  cover. 

Faith's  head  was  bent  over  the  list  she  was  writing; 
but  the  vexatious  color,  feeling  itself  shielded  in  her 
face,  crept  round  till  it  made  her  ear-tips  rosy.  Saidie 
put  out  her  forefinger,  with  a  hardly  perceptible  motion, 
at  the  tell-tale  sign,  and  nodded  at  Aunt  Etherege  be- 
hind her  sister's  back. 

Aunt  Etherege  looked  bland  and  sagacious. 

Up  stairs,  a  little  after,  these  sentences  were  spoken 
in  Saidie's  room. 

"  Of  course  it  will  be,"  said  the  younger  to  the 
elder  lady.  "  It's  been  going  on  ever  since  they  were 
children.  Faith  hasn't  a  right  to  say  no,  now.  And 
what  else  brought  him  up  here  after  houses  and  mills  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  that  the  houses  and  mills  were  necessary 
to  the  object.  Rather  cumbersome  and  costly  machin- 


FAITR   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

ery,  I  should  think,  to  bring  to  bear  upon  such  a  simple 
purpose." 

"  Oh,  the  business  plan  is  something  that  has  come 
up  accidentally,  no  doubt.  Running  after  one  thing, 
people  very  often  stumble  upon  another.  But  it  will  all 
play  in  together,  you'll  see.  Only,  I'm  afraid  I  shan't 
have  the  glory  of  introducing  Faithie  in  New  York !  " 

"  It  would  be  as  good  a  thing  as  possible.  And  I  can 
perceive  that  your  father  and  mother  count  upon  it, 
also.  In  their  situation  what  a  great  relief  it  would 
be!  Of  course,  Henderson  never  could  do  so  mad  a 
thing  as  take  the  child  up  by  the  roots,  again,  and  trans- 
plant her  to  San  Francisco !  And  I  see  plainly  he  has 
got  that  in  his  own  head." 

A  door  across  the  passage  at  this  moment  shut,  softly, 
but  securely. 

Behind  it,  in  her  low  chair  by  her  sewing-table  sat 
the  young  sister  whose  fate  had  been  so  lightly  decreed. 

Was  it  all  just  so,  as  Sadie  had  said  ?  Had  she  no 
longer  a  right  to  say  no  ?  Only  themselves  know  how 
easily,  how  almost  inevitably,  young  judgments  and  con- 
sciences are  drawn  on  in  the  track  beaten  down  for  them 
by  others.  Many  and  many  a  life-decision  has  been 
made,  through  this  taking  for  granted  that  bears  with 
its  mute,  but  magnetic  power,  upon  the  shyness  and  ir- 
resolution that  can  scarcely  face  and  interpret  its  own 
wish  or  will. 

It  was  very  true,  that,  as  Saidie  Gartney  had  said, 
"  this  had  been  going  on  for  years."  For  years,  Faith 
had  found  great  pleasantness  in  the  companionship  and 
evident  preference  of  Paul  Rushleigh.  There  had  been 
nobody  to  compare  with  him  in  her  young  set  in  Mis- 
haumok.  She  knew  he  liked  her.  She  had  been  proud 
of  it.  The  girlish  fancy,  that  may  be  forgotten  in  after 


188  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

years,  or  may,  fostered  by  circumstance,  endure  and 
grow  into  a  calm  and  happy  wifehood,  had  been  given 
to  him.  And  what  troubled  her  now  ?  Was  it  that  al- 
ways, when  the  decisive  moment  approaches,  there  is  a 
little  revulsion  of  timid  feminine  feeling,  even  amid  the 
truest  joy  ?  Or  was  it  that  a  new  wine  had  been  given 
into  Faith's  life,  which  would  not  be  held  in  the  old 
bottles  ?  Was  she  uncertain — inconstant ;  or  had  she 
spiritually  outgrown  her  old  attachment  ?  Or,  was  she 
bewildered,  now,  out  of  the  discernment  of  what  was 
still  her  heart's  desire  and  need  ? 

Paul  was  kind,  and  true,  and  manly.  She  recognized 
all  this  in  him  as  surely  as  ever.  If  he  had  turned  from, 
and  forgotten  her,  she  would  have  felt  a  pang.  What 
was  this,  then,  that  she  felt,  as  he  came  near,  and 
nearer  ? 

And  then,  her  father !  Had  he  really  begun  to  count 
on  this  ?  Do  men  know  how  their  young  daughters  feel 
when  the  first  suggestion  comes  that  they  are  not  re- 
garded as  born  for  perpetual  daughterhood  in  the 
father's  house  ?  Would  she  even  encumber  his  plans,  if 
she  clung  still  to  her  maidenly  life  ? 

By  all  these  subtleties  does  the  destiny  of  woman 
close  in  upon  her. 

Margaret  Rushleigh's  letter  was  full  of  delight,  and 
eagerness,  and  anticipation.  She  and  Paul  had  been 
'so  charmed  with  Kinnicutt  and  Lakeside ;  and  there  had 
happened  to  be  a  furnished  house  to  let  for  the  season 
close  by  the  Morrises,  and  they  had  persuaded  papa  to 
take  it.  They  were  tired  of  the  sea-shore,  and  Conway 
was  getting  crowded  to  death.  They  wanted  a  real 
summer  in  the  country.  And  then  this  had  turned  up 
about  the  mills !  Perhaps,  now,  her  father  would  build, 
and  they  should  come  up  every  year.  Perhaps  Paul 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  189 

would  stay  altogether,  and  superintend.  Perhaps — 
anything !  It  was  all  a  delightful  chaos  of  possibilities ; 
with  this  thing  certain,  that  she  and  Faith  would  be 
together  for  the  next  four  months  in  the  glorious  sum- 
mer shine  and  bloom. 

Miss  Gartney's  wedding  was  simple.  The  statelinesi 
and  show  were  all  reserved  for  Madison  Square. 

Mr.  Armstrong  pronounced  the  solemn  words,  in  the 
shaded  summer  parlor,  with  the  door  open  into  the 
sweeter  and  stiller  shade  without. 

Faith  stood  by  her  sister's  side,  in  fair,  white  robes, 
and  Mr.  Robert  Selmore  was  gromsman  to  his  brother. 
A  few  especial  friends  from  Mishaumok  and  Lakeside 
were  present  to  witness  the  ceremony. 

And  then  there  was  a  kissing, — a  hand-shaking, — a 
well-wishing, — a  going  out  to  the  simple  but  elegantly 
arranged  collation, — a  disappearance  of  the  bride  to  put 
on  travelling  array, — a  carriage  at  the  door, — smiles, 
tears,  and  good-byes, — Mr.,  and  Mrs.,  and  Mr.  Robert 
Selmore  were  off  to  meet  the  Western  train, — and  all 
was  over. 

Mrs.  Etherege  remained  a  few  days  longer  at  Cross 
Corners.  As  Mis'  Battis  judiciously  remarked,  "  after 
a  weddin'  or  a  funeral,  there  ought  to  be  somebody  to 
stay  a  while  and  cheer  up  the  mourners." 

This  visit,  that  had  been  so  full  of  happenings,  was  to 
have  a  strange  occurrence  still  to  mark  it,  before  all  fell 
again  into  the  usual  order. 

Aunt  Etherege  was  to  go  on  Thursday.  On  Wed- 
nesday, the  three  ladies  sat  together  in  the  cool,  open 
parlor,  where  Mr.  Armstrong,  walking  over  from  the 
Old  House,  had  joined  them.  He  had  the  July  number 
of  the  "  Mishaumok  "  in  his  hand,  and  a  finger  between 
the  fresh-cut  leaves  at  a  poem  he  would  read  them. 


FAITH   GARTXEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Just  as  he  finished  the  last  stanza,  amid  a  hush  of  the 
room  that  paid  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  the  lines  and  his 
perfect  rendering  of  them,  wheels  came  round  from  the 
high  road  into  the  lane. 

'*  It  is  Mr.  Gartney  come  back  from  Sedgely,"  said 
Aunt  Etherege,  looking  from  her  window,  between  the 
blinds.  "  Whom  on  earth  has  he  picked  up  to  bring 
with  him  ? " 

A  thin,  angular  figure  of  a  woman,  destitute  of  crino- 
line, wearing  big  boots,  and  a  bonnet  that  ignored  the 
fashion,  and  carrying  in  her  hand  a  black  enamelled 
leather  bag,  was  alighting  as  she  spoke,  at  the  gate. 

"  Mother !  "  said  Faith,  leaning  forward,  and  glanc- 
ing out,  also,  "  it  looks  like — it  is — Nurse  Sampson !  " 

And  she  put  her  work  hastily  from  her  lap,  and  rose 
to  go  out  at  the  side  door,  to  meet  and  welcome  her. 

To  do  this,  she  had  to  pass  by  Mr.  Armstrong.  How 
came  that  rigid  look,  that  deadly  paleness,  to  his  face  ? 
What  spasm  of  pain  made  him  clutch  the  pamphlet  he 
held  with  fingers  that  grew  white  about  the  nails  ? 

Faith  stopped,  startled. 

"  Mr.  Armstrong !  Are  you  not  well  ?  "  said  she.  At 
the  same  instant  of  her  pausing,  Miss  Sampson  entered 
from  the  hall,  behind  her.  Mr.  Armstrong's  eye,  lifted 
toward  Faith  in  an  attempt  to  reply,  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  sharp,  pronounced  outlines  of  the  nurse's  face. 
Before  Faith  could  comprehend,  or  turn,  or  cry  out, 
the  paleness  blanched  ghastlier  over  his  features,  and 
the  strong  man  fell  back,  fainting. 

With  quick,  professional  instinct,  Miss  Sampson 
sprang  forward,  seizing,  as  she  did  so,  an  ice-water 
pitcher  from  the  table. 

"  There,  take  this !  "  said  she  to  Faith,  "  and  sprinkle 
him  with  it,  while  I  loosen  his  neckcloth! — Gracious 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

goodness !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  an  altered  tone,  as  she 
came  nearer  to  him  for  this  purpose,  "  do  it,  some  of 
the  rest  of  you,  and  let  me  get  out  of  his  way !  It  was 
me!" 

And  she  vanished  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
ROGER  ARMSTRONG'S  STORY. 


"  Even  by  means  of  our  sorrows,  we  belong  to  the  Eternal  Plan.* 

HUMBOLDT. 


"  Go  in  there,"  said  Nurse  Sampson  to  Mr.  Gartney, 
calling  him  in  from  the  porch,  "  and  lay  that  man  flat 
on  the  floor !  " 

Which  Mr.  Gartney  did,  wondering,  vaguely,  in  the 
instant  required  for  his  transit  to  the  apartment,  whether 
bandit  or  lunatic  might  await  his  offices. 

All  happened  in  a  moment ;  and  in  that  moment,  the 
minister's  fugitive  senses  began  to  return. 

"  Lie  quiet,  a  minute.  Faith,  get  a  glass  of  wine,  or 
a  little  brandy." 

Faith  quickly  brought  both;  and  Mr.  Armstrong, 
whom  her  father  now  assisted  to  the  armchair  again, 
took  the  wine  from  her  hand,  with  a  smile  that  thanked 
her,  and  depreciated  himself. 

"  I  am  not  ill,"  he  said.  "  It  is  all  over  now.  It  was 
the  sudden  shock.  I  did  not  think  I  could  have  been  so 
weak." 

Mrs.  Gartney  had  gone  to  find  some  hartshorn.     Mrs. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Etherege,  seeing  that  the  need  for  it  was  passing,  went 
out  to  tell  her  sister  so,  and  to  ask  the  strange  woman 
who  had  originated  all  the  commotion,  what  it  could 
possibly  mean.  Mr.  Gartney,  at  the  same  instant, 
caught  a  glimpse  of  his  horse,  which  he  had  left  un- 
•  fastened  at  the  gate,  giving  indications  of  restlessness, 
and  hastened  out  to  tie  him,  and  to  call  Luther,  whom 
he  had  been  awaiting  when  Miss  Sampson  hailed  him  at 
the  door. 

Faith  and  Mr.  Armstrong  were  left  alone. 

"  Did  I  frighten  you,  my  child  ?  "  he  asked,  gently. 
"  It  was  a  strange  thing  to  happen !  I  thought  that 
woman  was  in  her  grave.  I  thought  she  died,  when. 
—  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  some  day,  soon,  Miss 
Faith.  It  was  the  sad,  terrible  page  of  my  life." 

Faith's  eyes  were  lustrous  with  sympathy.  Under 
all  other  thought  was  a  beating  joy, — not  looked  at  yet, 
— that  he  could  speak  to  her  so !  That  he  could  snatch 
this  chance  moment  to  tell  her,  only,  of  his  sacred 
sorrow ! 

She  moved  a  half-step  nearer,  and  laid  her  hand, 
softly,  on  the  chair-arm  beside  him.  She  did  not 
touch  so  much  as  a  fold  of  his  sleeve;  but  it  seemed, 
somehow,  like  a  pitying  caress. 

"  I  am  sorry !  "  said  she.  And  then  the  others  came 
in. 

Mr.  Gartney  walked  round  with  his  friend  to  the  old 
house. 

Miss  Sampson  began  to  recount  what  she  knew  of  the 
story.  Faith  escaped  to  her  own  room  at  the  first 
sentence.  She  would  rather  have  it  as  Mr.  Armstrong's 
confidence. 

Next  morning,  Faith  was  dusting,  and  arranging 
flowers  in  the  east  parlor,  and  had  just  set  the  "  hill-side 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  193 

door,"  as  they  called  it,  open,  when   Mr.  Armstrong 
passed  the  window  and  appeared  thereat. 

"  I  came  to  ask,  Miss  Faith,  if  you  would  walk  up 
over  the  Ridge.  It  is  a  lovely  morning,  and  I  am 
selfish  enough  to  wish  to  have  you  to  myself  for  a  little 
of  it.  By-and-by,  I  would  like  to  come  back,  and  see 
Miss  Sampson." 

Faith  understood.  He  meant  to  tell  her  this  that 
had  been  heavy  upon  his  heart  through  all  these  years. 
She  would  go.  Directly,  when  she  had  brought  her 
hat,  and  spoken  with  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Etherege  and  Mrs.  Gartney  were  sitting  together 
in  the  guest-chamber,  above.  At  noon,  after  an  early 
dinner,  Mrs.  Etherege  was  to  leave. 

Mr.  Armstrong  stood  upon  the  door-stone  below, 
looking  outward,  waiting.  If  he  had  been  inside  the 
room,  he  would  not  have  heard.  The  ladies,  sitting  by 
the  window,  just  over  his  head,  were  quite  unaware  and 
thoughtless  of  his  possible  position, 

He  caught  Faith's  clear,  sweet  accent  first,  as  she 
announced  her  purpose  to  her  mother,  adding, — 

"  I  shall  be  back,  auntie,  long  before  dinner." 

Then  she  crossed  the  hall  into  her  own  room,  made 
her  slight  preparation  for  the  walk,  and  went  down  by 
the  kitchen  staircase,  to  give  Parthenia  some  last  word 
about  the  early  dinner. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Etherege,  in  the  keenness  of 
her  worldly  wisdom,  "  that  this  minister  of  yours  might 
as  well  have  a  hint  of  how  matters  stand.  It  seems  to 
me  he  is  growing  to  monopolize  Faith,  rather." 

"  Oh,"  replied  Mrs.  Gartney,  "  there  is  nothing  of 

that !     You  know  what  nurse  told  us,  last  evening.     It 

isn't  quite  likely  that  a  man  would  faint  away  at  the 

memory  of  one  woman,  if  his  thoughts  were  turned, 

13 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

the  least,  in  that  way,  upon  another.  No,  indeed !  She 
is  his  Sunday  scholar,  and  he  treats  her  always  as  a 
very  dear  young  friend.  But  that  is  all." 

"  Maybe.  But  is  it  quite  safe  for  her  ?  He  is  a 
young  man  yet,  notwithstanding  those  few  gray  hairs." 
i  "  Oh,  Faith  has  tacitly  belonged  to  Paul  Rushleigh 
these  three  years !  " 

Mr.  Armstrong  heard  it  all.  He  turned  the  next 
moment,  and  met  his  "  dear  young  friend  "  with  the 
same  gentle  smile  and  manner  that  he  always  wore 
toward  her,  and  they  walked  up  the  Ridge-path,  among 
the  trees,  together. 

No  landscape  gardener  could  have  planned  so  beauti- 
ful an  illusion  as  Nature  had  made  here  behind  the 
house  at  Cross  Corners. 

This  natural  ridge, — that  sloped  up  from  the  lane  in 
a  bank  along  one  side,  and  on  the  other  sunk  down  into 
a  hollow,  beyond  which  were  the  cornfields  and  potato- 
patches, — crowned  and  clad  with  wild  shrubbery  and 
trees,  ended  like  a  sloping  promontory  that  melted  down 
into  the  level,  scarcely  a  rod  beyond  the  "  hill-side 
door." 

Over  the  cool,  grassy  path, — up  among  the  lilacs  and 
evergreens,  and  barberries, — until  they  were  shut  in 
upon  the  crest,  by  the  verdure  and  the  blue, — they  kept 
on,  in  a  silence  wherein  their  spirits  felt  each  other,  and 
could  wait  for  words. 

A  bowlder  of  rock,  scooped  into  smooth  hollows  that 
made  pleasant  seats,  was  the  goal,  usually,  of  the 
Ridge-walk.  Here  Faith  paused,  and  Mr.  Armstrong 
made  her  sit  down  and  rest. 

Standing  there  before  her,  he  began  his  story. 

"  One  summer, — years  ago," — he  said,  "  I  went  to 
the  city  of  New  Orleans.  I  went  to  bring  thence,  with 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

me,  a  dear  friend — her  who  was  to  have  been  my 
wife." 

The  deep  voice  trembled,  and  paused.  Faith  could 
not  look  up,  her  breath  came  quickly,  and  the  tears  were 
all  but  ready. 

"  She  had  been  there,  through  the  winter  and  spring, 
with  her  father,  who,  save  myself,  was  the  only  near 
friend  she  had  in  all  the  world. 

"  The.  business  which  took  him  there  detained  him 
until  later  in  the  season  than  Northerners  are  accus- 
tomed to  feel  safe  in  staying.  And  still,  important 
affairs  hindered  his  departure. 

"  He  wrote  to  me,  that,  for  himself,  he  must  risk  a 
residence  there  for  some  weeks  yet ;  but  that  his  daugh- 
ter must  be  placed  in  safety.  There  was  every  indi- 
cation of  a  sickly  summer.  She  knew  nothing  of  his 
writing,  and  he  feared  would  hardly  consent  to  leave 
him.  But,  if  I  came,  she  would  yield  to  me.  Our 
marriage  might  take  place  there,  and  I  could  bring  her 
home.  Without  her,  he  said,  he  could  more  quickly 
despatch  what  remained  for  him  to  do ;  and  I  must  per- 
suade her  of  this,  and  that  it  was  for  the  safety  of  ail 
that  she  should  so  fulfil  the  promise  which  was  to  have 
been  at  this  time  redeemed,  had  their  earlier  return 
been  possible. 

"  In  the  New  Orleans  papers  that  came  by  the  same 
mail,  were  paragraphs  of  deadly  significance.  The  very 
cautiousness  with  which  they  were  worded  weighted 
them  the  more. 

"  Miss  Faith !  my  friend !  " — and,,  as  Roger  Arm- 
strong spoke,  the  strong  right  hand  clutched,  with  a 
nervous  grasp  of  pain,  the  hole  of  a  young  tree  by  which 
he  stood, — "  in  that  city  of  pestilence,  was  my  life ! 
Night  and  day  I  journeyed,  till  I  reached  the  place.  I 


J96  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

found  the  address  which  had  been  sent  me, — there  were 
only  strangers  there!  Mr.  Waldo  had  been,  but  the 
very  day  before,  seized  with  the  fatal  endemic,  and  re- 
moved to  a  fever  hospital.  Miriam  had  refused  to 
leave  him,  and  had  gone  with  him, — into  plague  and 
death! 

"  Was  I  wrong,  child  ?  Could  I  have  helped  it  ?  I 
followed.  Ah!  God  lets  strange  woes,  most  fearful 
horrors,  into  this  world  of  His !  I  cannot  tell  you,  if  I 
would,  what  I  saw  there!  Pestilence — death — corrup- 
tion! 

"  In  the  midst  of  all,  among  the  gentle  sisters  of 
charity,  I  found  a  New  England  woman, — a  nurse, — 
her  whom  I  met  yesterday.  She  came  to  me  on  my  in- 
quiry for  Mr.  Waldo.  He  was  dead.  Mirian  had 
already  sickened, — was  past  hope.  I  could  not  see 
her.  It  was  against  the  rule.  She  would  not  know 
me. 

"  I  only  remember  that  I  refused  to  be  sent  away. 
I  think  my  brain  reeled  with  the  weariness  of  sleepless 
nights  and  the  horror  of  the  shock. 

"  I  cannot  dwell  upon  the  story.  It  was  ended 
quickly.  When  I  struggled  back,  painfully,  to  life, 
from  the  disease  that  struck  me,  too,  down,  there  were 
strange  faces  round  me,  and  none  could  even  tell  me  of 
her  last  hours.  The  nurse, — Miss  Sampson, — had  been 
smitten — was  dying. 

"  They  sent  me  to  a  hospital  for  convalescents. 
Weeks  after,  I  came  out,  feeble  and  hopeless,  into  my 
lonely  life ! 

"  Since  then,  God,  who  had  taken  from  me  the  object 
I  had  set  for  myself,  has  filled  its  room  with  His  own 
work.  And,  doing  it,  He  has  not  denied  TOC  to  find 
many  a  chastened  joy. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  Dear,  young  friend !  "  said  he,  with  a  tender,  linger- 
ing emphasis, — it  was  all  he  could  say  then, — all  they 
had  left  him  to  say,  if  he  would, — "  I  have  told  you 
this,  because  you  have  come  nearer  into  my  sympathies 
than  any  in  all  these  years  that  have  been  my  years  of 
strangerhood  and  sorrow !  You  have  made  me  think,  in 
your  fresh,  maidenly  life,  and  your  soul-earnestness,  of 
Miriam ! 

"  When  your  way  broadens  out  into  busy  sunshine, 
and  mine  lies  otherwise,  do  not  forget  me !  " 

A  solemn  baptism  of  mingled  grief  and  joy  seemed 
to  touch  the  soul  of  Faith.  One  hand  covered  her  face, 
that  was  bowed  down,  weeping.  The  other  lay  in  her 
companion's,  who  had  taken  it  as  he  uttered  these 
last  words.  So  it  rested  a  moment,  and  then  its  fellow 
came  to  it,  and,  between  the  two,  held  Roger  Arm- 
strong's reverently,  while  the  fair,  tearful  face  lifted 
itself  to  his. 

"  I  do  thank  you  so !  "     And  that  was  all. 

Faith  was  his  "  dear,  young  friend ! "  How  the 
words  in  which  her  mother  limited  his  thoughts  of 
her  to  commonplace,  widened,  when  she  spoke  them  to 
herself,  into  a  great  beatitude!  She  never  thought  of 
more, — scarcely  whether  more  could  be.  This  great, 
noble,  purified,  God-loving  soul  that  stood  between  her 
and  heaven,  like  the  mountain-peak,  bathing  its  head 
in  clouds,  and  drawing  lightnings  down,  leaned  over  her, 
and  blessed  her  thus ! 

He  had  even  likened  her  to  Miriam.  He  had  made 
her  nearest,  next  to  her.  However  their  differing  paths 
might  lie,  he  had  begged  her  to  remember  him.  What 
could  happen  to  her  that  should  take  away  this  joy? 
She  was  strong  for  all  life,  all  duty,  henceforth. 

She  never  .suspected  her  own  heart,  even  when  the 


198  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

remembrance  of  Paul  came  up  and  took  a  tenderness 
from  the  thought  how  he,  too,  might  love,  and  learn 
from,  this  her  friend.  She  turned  back  with  a  new 
gentleness  to  all  other  love,  as  one  does  from  a  prayer ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

QUESTION"  AND  ANSWER. 

••  Unless  you  can  swear,  *  For  life,  for  death  I  '• 
Oh,  fear  to  call  it  loving ! " 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

FAITH  sent  Nurse  Sampson  in  to  talk  with  Mr.  Arm- 
strong. Then  he  learned  all  that  he  had  longed  to  know, 
but  had  never  known  before ;  that  which  took  him  to  his 
lost  bride's  death-bed,  and  awoke  out  of  the  silent  years 
for  him  a  moment  refused  to  him  in  its  passing. 

Miss  Sampson  came  from  her  hour's  interview,  with 
an  unbending  of  the  hard  lines  of  her  face,  and  a  soft- 
ness, even,  in  her  eyes,  that  told  of  tears. 

"  If  ever  there  was  an  angel  that  went  walking  about 
in  black  broadcloth,  that  man  is  the  one,"  said  she. 

And  that  was  all  she  would  say. 

"  I'm  staying,"  she  explained,  in  answer  to  their 
enquiries,  "  with  a  half-sister  of  mine  at  Sedgely.  Mrs. 
Crabe,  the  blacksmith's  wife.  You  see,  I'd  got  run 
down,  and  had  to  take  a  rest.  Resting  is  as  much  a 
part  of  work  as  doing,  when  it's  necessary.  I  had  a 
chance  to  go  to  Europe  with  an  invaleed  lady;  but  I 
allers  hate  such  half-way  contrivances.  I  either  want 
to  work  with  all  my  might,  or  be  lazy  with  all  my  might. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  199 

And  so  I've  come  here  to  do  nothing,  as  hard  as  ever 
I  can." 

"  I  know  well  enough,"  she  said  again,  afterward, 
"  that  something's  being  cut  out  for  me,  tougher'n  any- 
thing I've  had  yet.  I  never  had  an  hour's  extra  rest 
in  my  life,  but  I  found  out,  precious  soon,  what  it  had 
been  sent  for.  I'm  going  to  stay  on  all  summer,  as  the 
doctor  told  me  to ;  but  I'm  getting  strong,  already ;  and 
I  shall  be  just  like  a  tiger  before  the  year's  out.  And 
then  it'll  come,  whatever  it  is.  You'll  see." 

Miss  Sampson  stayed  until  the  next  day  after,  and 
then  Mr.  Gartney  drove  her  back  to  Sedgely. 

In  those  days  it  came  to  pass  that  Glory  found  she 
had  a  "  follower." 

Luther  Goodell,  who  "  did  round  "  at  Cross  Corners, 
got  so  into  the  way  of  straying  up  the  field-path,  in  his 
nooning  hours,  and  after  chores  were  done  at  night, 
that  Miss  Henderson  at  last,  in  her  plain,  outright  fash- 
ion, took  the  subject  up,  and  questioned  Glory. 

"  If  it  means  anything,  and  you  mean  it  shall  mean 
anything,  well  and  good.  I  shall  put  up  with  it ;  though 
what  anybody  wants  with  men-folks  cluttering  round,  ia 
more  than  I  can  understand.  But,  if  you  don't  want 
him,  he  shan't  come.  So  tell  me  the  truth,  child. 
Yes,  or  no.  Have  you  any  notion  of  him  for  a  hus- 
band?" 

Glory  blushed  her  brightest  at  these  words ;  but  there 
was  no  falling  of  the  eye,  or  faltering  of  the  voice,  as 
she  spoke  with  answering  straightforwardness  and  sim- 
plicity. 

"  No  ma'am.  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  have  a  hus- 
band." 

"  No  ma'am's  enough.  The  rest  you  don't  know 
anything  about.  Host  likely  you  will," 


200  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  I  shouldn't  want  anybody,  ma'am,  that  would  be 
likely  to  want  me." 

And  Glory  walked  out  into  the  milk-room  with  the 
pans  she  had  been  scalding. 

It  was  true.  This  woman-child  would  go  all  through 
life  as  she  had  begun ;  discerning  always,  and  reaching 
spiritually  after,  that  which  was  beyond ;  which  in  that 
"  kingdom  of  heaven  "  was  hers  already ;  but  which  to 
earthly  having  and  holding  should  never  come. 

God  puts  such  souls,  oftener  than  we  think,  into  Buch 
life.  These  are  His  vestals. 

Miss  Henderson's  foot  had  not  grown  perfectly 
strong.  She,  herself,  said,  coolly,  that  she  never  ex- 
pected it  to.  More  than  that,  she  supposed,  now  she 
had  begun,  she  should  keep  on  going  to  pieces. 

"  An  old  life,"  she  said,  "  is  just  like  old  cloth  when 
it  begins  to  tear.  It'll  soon  go  into  the  rag-bag,  and 
then  to  the  mill  that  grinds  all  up,  and  brings  us  out  new 
and  white  again !  " 

"  Glory  McWhirk,"  said  she,  on  another  day  after, 
"  if  you  could  do  just  the  thing  you  would  like  best  to 
do,  what  would  it  be  ?  " 

"  To-day,  ma'am  ?  or  any  time  ?  "  asked  Glory,  puz- 
zled as  to  how  much  her  mistress's  question  included. 

"  Ever.  If  you  had  a  home  to  live  in,  say,  and  money 
to  spend  ? " 

Glory  had  to  wait  a  moment  before  she  could  so 
grasp  such  an  extraordinary  hypothesis  as  to  reply. 

"  Well  ? "  said  Miss  Henderson,  with  slight  impa 
tience. 

"  If  I  had, — I  should  like  best  to  find  some  little 
children,  without  any  fathers  or  mothers,  as  I  was,  and 
dress  them  up,  as  you  did  me,  and  curl  their  hair,  and 
make  a  real  good  time  for  them,  every  day !  " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  201 

"  You  would !  Well,  that's  all.  I  was  curious  to 
know  what  you'd  say.  I  guess  those  beans  in  the  oven 
want  more  hot  water." 

The  Rushleighs  had  come  to  Lakeside.  Every  day, 
nearly,  saw  Paul,  or  Margaret,  or  both,  at  Cross  Cor- 
ners. 

Faith  led  them  through  her  beautiful  wood-walks; 
they  strolled  away  for  whole  mornings,  and  made  little 
picnics;  not  deigning  to  come  back  to  damask  table- 
cloths and  regular  dinners;  Paul  read  them  beautiful 
poems,  and  whole  chapters  out  of  new  and  charming 
books,  and  sang  wild  ballads,  and  climbed  impossible 
places  to  get  Faith  all  the  farthest  off  and  fairest  wild 
flowers. 

Faith  was  often,  also,  at  Lakeside. 

Old  Mr.  Rushleigh  treated  her  with  a  benignant 
fatherliness,  and  looked  upon  her  with  an  evident  fond- 
ness and  pride  that  threw  heavy  weight  in  the  scale  of 
his  son's  chances.  And  Madam  Rushleigh,  as  she  began 
to  be  called,  since  Mrs.  Philip  had  entered  the  family, 
petted  her  in  the  old,  graceful,  gracious  fashion;  and 
Margaret  loved  her,  simply,  and  from  her  heart. 

There  was  nothing  she  could  break  away  from,  if 
she  had  wished;  there  was  everything  that  bound  and 
multiplied  the  fine,  invisible  network  about  her  fancy 
and  her  will. 

With  Paul  himself,  it  had  not  been  as  in  the  days 
of  bouquets,  and  "  Germans,"  and  bridal  association  in 
Mishaumok.  They  were  all  living  and  enjoying  to- 
gether a  beautiful  idyl.  Nothing  seemed  special, — 
nothing  was  embarrassing. 

Faith  thought,  in  these  days,  that  she  was  very  happy. 

Mr.  Armstrong  relinquished  her,  almost  impercep- 
tibly, to  her  younger  friends.  In  the  pleasant  twilights, 


202  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

though,  when  her  day's  pleasures  and  occupations  were 
ended,  he  would  often  come  over,  as  of  old,  and  sit  with 
them  in  the  summer  parlor,  or  under  the  elms. 

Or  Faith  would  go  up  the  beautiful  Ridge-walk 
with  him ;  and  he  would  have  a  thought  for  her  that  was 
higher  than  any  she  could  reach,  by  herself,  or  with 
the  help  of  any  other  human  soul. 

And  so, — her  beet  nature  fed, — no  want  left  craving 
and  unfilled, — she  hardly  knew  what  is  was  that  made 
her  so  utterly  content;  but  the  brightness  of  her  life, 
like  that  of  day,  seemed  to  come  from  all  around,  over- 
flowing upon  her  from  the  whole  illHmined  world. 

And  the  minister  ?  How  did  his  world  look  to  him  ? 
Perhaps,  as  if  clouds  that  had  parted,  sending  a  sunbeam 
across  from  the  west  upon  the  dark  sorrow  of  the  morn- 
ing, had  shut  again,  inexorably,  leaving  him  still  to 
tread  the  nightward  path  under  the  old,  leaden  sky. 

A  day  came,  that  set  him  thinking  of  all  this — of 
the  years  that  were  past,  of  those  that  might  be  to  come. 

Mr.  Armstrong  was  not  quite  so  old  as  he  had  been 
represented.  A  man  cannot  go  through  plague  and 
anguish,  as  he  had  done,  and  "  keep,"  as  Nurse  Samp- 
son had  said,  long  ago,  of  women,  "  the  baby  face  on." 
There  were  lines  about  brow  and  mouth,  and  gleams  in 
the  hair,  that  seldom  come  so  early. 

This  day  ne  completed  one-and-thirty  years. 

The  same  day,  last  month,  had  been  Faith's  birth- 
day. She  was  nineteen. 

Roger  Armstrong  thought  of  the  two  together. 

He  thought  of  these  twelve  years  that  lay  between 
them.  Of  the  love, — the  loss, — the  stern  and  bitter 
struggle, — the  divine  amends  and  holy  hope  that  they 
had  brought  to  him;  and  then  of  the  innocent  girl-life 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

she  had  been  living  in  them ;  then,  how  the  two  paths  had 
met  so,  in  these  last  few,  beautiful  months. 

Whither,  and  how  far  apart,  trended  they  now  ? 

He  could  not  see.  He  waited, — leaving  the  end  with 
God. 

A  few  weeks  went  by,  in  this  careless,  holiday  fashion, 
with  Faith  and  her  friends;  and  then  came  the  hour 
when  she  must  face  the  truth  for  herself  and  for  another, 
and  speak  the  word  of  destiny  for  both. 

She  had  made  a  promise  for  a  drive  round  the  Pond 
Road.  Margaret  and  her  brother  were  to  come  for  her, 
and  to  return  to  Cross  Corners  for  tea. 

At  the  hour  fixed,  she  sat,  waiting,  under  the  elms, 
hat  and  mantle  on,  and  whiling  the  moments  of  delay 
with  a  new  book  Mr.  Armstrong  had  lent  her. 

Presently,  the  Rushleighs'  light,  open,  single-seated 
wagon  drove  up. 

Paul  had  come  alone. 

Margaret  had  a  headache,  but  thought  that  after  sun- 
down she  might  feel  better,  and  begged  that  Faith 
would  reverse  the  plan  agreed  upon,  and  let  Paul  bring 
her  home  to  tea  with  them. 

Paul  took  for  granted  that  Faith  would  keep  to  her 
engagement  with  himself.  It  was  difficult  to  refuse. 
She  was  ready,  waiting.  It  would  be  absurd  to  draw 
back,  sensitively,  now,  she  thought.  Besides,  it  would  be 
very  pleasant ;  and  why  should  she  be  afraid  ?  Yet  she 
wished,  very  regretfully,  that  Margaret  were  there. 

She  shrank  from  ttte-a-tetes, — from  anything  that 
might  help  to  precipitate  a  moment  she  felt  herself  not 
quite  ready  for. 

She  supposed  she  did  care  for  Paul  Rushleigh  as 
most  girls  cared  for  lovers;  that  she  had  given  him 
reason  to  expect  she  should;  she  felt,  instinctively, 


204  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

whither  all  this  pleased  acquescence  of  father  and 
mother,  and  this  warm  welcome  and  encouragement  at 
Lakeside,  tended ;  and  she  had  a  dim  prescience  of  what 
must,  some  time,  come  of  it :  but  that  was  all  in  the  far- 
off  by-and-by.  She  would  not  look  at  it  yet.  She  was 
quite  happy  and  content  in  this  bright  summer-life  of 
.he  present.  Why  should  people  want  to  hurry  her 
1  on  to  more  ? 

There  is  much  that  is  apparently  inconsistent  in  the 
varying  moods  of  young  girls,  to  whom  their  own  wishes 
are,  as  yet,  a  mystery. 

If  Faith  felt,  ordinarily,  a  blithe  content,  there  were 
moments,  nevertheless,  when  she  was  afraid. 

She  was  afraid,  now,  as  she  let  Paul  help  her  into 
the  wagon,  and  take  his  place  at  her  side. 

She  had  been  frightened  by  a  word  of  her  mother's, 
when  she  had  gone  to  her,  before  leaving,  to  tell  how 
the  plan  had  been  altered,  and  ask  if  she  had  better  do 
as  was  wished  of  her. 

Mrs.  Gartney  had  assented  with  a  smile,  and  a 
"  Certainly,  if  you  like  it,  Faith ;  indeed,  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  very  well  help  it ;  only — " 

"  Only  what,  mother  ?  "  asked  Faith,  a  little  fearfully. 

"  Nothing,  dear,"  answered  her  mother,  turning  to 
her  with  a  little  caress.  But  she  had  a  look  in  her  eyes 
that  mothers  wear  when  they  begin  to  see  their  last 
woman's  sacrifice  demand  itself  at  their  hands. 

"  Go,  darling.    Paul  is  waiting." 

It  was  like  giving  her  away. 

So  they  drove  down,  through  by-ways,  among  the 
lanes,  toward  the  Wachaug  road. 

Summer  was  in  her  perfect  flush  and  fulness  of  splen- 
dor. The  smell  of  new-mown  hay  was  in  the  air. 

As  they  came  upon  the  river,  they  saw  the  workmen 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  205 

busy  in  and  about  the  new  mills.  Mr.  Rushleigh's 
buggy  stood  by  the  fence ;  and  he  was  there,  among  his 
mechanics,  with  his  straw  hat  and  seer-sucker  coat  on, 
inspecting  and  giving  orders. 

"  What  a  capital  old  fellow  the  governor  is !  "  said 
Paul,  in  the  fashion  young  men  use,  now-a-days,  to  utter 
their  affections. 

"  Do  you  know  he  means  to  set  me  up  in  these  mills 
he  is  making  such  a  hobby  of,  and  give  me  half  the 
profits  ? " 

Faith  had  not  known.    She  thought  him  very  good. 

"  Yes ;  he  would  do  anything,  I  believe,  for  me, — or 
anybody  I  cared  for." 

Faith  was  silent;  and  the  strange  fear  came  up  in 
heart  and  throat. 

"  I  like  Kinnicutt,  thoroughly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Faith.     "  It  is  very  beautiful  here." 

"  Not  only  that.  I  like  the  people.  I  like  their 
simple  fashions.  One  gets  at  human  life  and  human 
nature  here.  I  don't  think  I  was  ever,  at  heart,  a  city 
boy.  I  don't  like  living  at  arm's-length  from  everybody. 
People  come  close  together,  in  the  country.  And — 
Faith !  what  a  minister  you've  got  here !  What  a  ser- 
mon that  was  he  preached  last  Sunday !  I've  never  been 
what  you  might  call  one  of  the  serious  sort ;  but  such  a 
sermon  as  that  must  do  anybody  good." 

Faith  felt  a  warmth  toward  Paul  as  he  said  this, 
which  was  more  a  drawing  of  the  heart  than  he  had 
gained  from  her  by  all  the  rest. 

"My  father  says  he  will  keep  him  here,,  if  money 
can  do  it.  He  never  goes  to  church  at  Lakeside,  now. 
It  needs  just  such  a  man  among  mill-villages  like  these, 
he  says.  My  father  thinks  a  great  deal  of  his  work- 
people. He  says  nobody  ought  to  bring  families  to- 


206  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

gether,  and  build  up  a  neighborhood,  as  a  manufacturer 
does,  and  not  look  out  for  more  than  the  money.  I 
think  he'll  expect  a  great  deal  of  me,  if  he  leaves  me 
here,  at  the  head  of  it  all.  More  than  I  can  ever 
do,  by  myself." 

"  Mr.  Armstrong  will  be  the  very  best  help  to  you," 
said  Faith.  "  I  think  he  means  to  stay.  I'm  sure  Kin- 
nicutt  would  seem  nothing  without  him,  now." 

They  were  in  the  Pond  Road.  At  this  moment,  they 
were  passing  a  bend,  where  a  great  elm  leaned  over 
from  the  wood-side,  and  on  the  bank,  opposite,  lay  a 
mossy  log.  Here  some  child  had  sat  down  to  rest,  and 
left  a  handful  of  wild  flowers,  that  were  fading  there. 

Faith  carried,  through  all  her  life,  a  daguerreotype  of 
this  little  scene,  to  its  minutest  detail,  flashed  upon  her 
soul  by  these  next  words  that  were  spoken,  as  they  passed 
slowly  by. 

"  Faith !    Will  you  help  me  to  make  a  home  here  ?  " 

She  could  not  speak.  A  great  shock  had  fallen  upon 
her  whole  nature,  as  if  a  thunder-bolt  she  had  had 
presentiment  of,  burst,  warningless,  from  a  clear  blue 
sky. 

They  drove  on  for  minutes,  without  another  word. 

"  Faith !  You  don't  answer  me.  Must  I  take  silence 
as  I  please  ?  It  can't  be  that  you  don't  care  for  me !  " 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  Faith,  desperately,  like  one  strug- 
gling for  voice  through  a  nightmare.  "  I  do  care.  But 
— Paul!  I  don't  know!  I  can't  tell.  Let  me  wait, 
please.  Let  me  think." 

"  As  long  as  you  like,  darling,"  said  he,  gently  and 
tenderly.  "  You  know  all  I  can  tell  you.  You  know  I 
have  cared  for  you  all  my  life.  And  I'll  wait  now  till 
you  tell  me  I  may  speak  again.  Till  you  put  on  that 
little  ring  of  mine,  Faith !  " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  207 

There  was  a  little  loving  reproach  in  these  last  words. 

"  Please  take  me  home,  now,  Paul !  " 

They  were  close  upon  the  return  path  around  the 
Lake.  A  look  of  disappointed  pain  passed  over  Paul 
Rushleigh's  features.  This  was  hardly  the  happy  re- 
ception, however  shy,,  he  had  hoped  and  looked  for. 
Still  he  hoped,  however.  He  could  not  think  she  did  not 
care  for  him.  She,  who  had  been  the  spring  of  his  own 
thoughts  and  purposes  for  years.  But,  obedient  to  her 
wish,  he  touched  his  horse  with  the  lash,  and  urged  him 
homeward. 

How  many  minutes,  how  many  miles,  they  might 
have  counted,  as  they  sat  side  by  side,  in  that  intense 
consciousness  that  was  speechless,  neither  thought. 

Paul  helped  her  from  the  wagon  at  the  little  white 
gate  at  Cross  Corners,  and  then  they  both  remembered 
that  she  was  to  have  gone  to  Lakeside  to  tea. 

"  What  shall  I  tell  Margaret  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  her  anything !  I  mean — tell  her,  I 
couldn't  come  to-night.  And,  Paul — forgive  me!  I 
do  want  so  to  do  what  is  right !  " 

"  Isn't  it  right  to  let  me  try  and  make  you  happy  all 
your  life  ?  " 

A  light  had  broken  upon  her, — confusedly,  it  is  true, 
— yet  that  began  to  show  her  to  herself  more  plainly 
than  any  glimpse  she  had  had  before,  as  Paul's  words, 
simple,  yet  burning  with  his  strong  sure  love,  came  to 
'her,  with  their  claim  to  honest  answer. 

She  saw  what  it  was  he  brought  her ;  she  felt  it  was 
less  she  had  to  give  him  back.  There  was  something  in 
the  world  she  might  go  missing  all  the  way  through  life, 
if  she  took  this  lot  that  lay  before  her  now.  Would  he 
not  miss  a  something  in  her,  also  ?  Yet,  must  she  needs 
insist  on  the  greatest,  the  rarest,  that  God  ever  sends  ? 


208  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Why  should  she,  more  than  others  \  Would  she  wrong 
him  more,  to  give  him  what  she  could,  or  to  refuse  him 
all? 

"  I  ought — if  I  do — "she  said,  tremulously,  "  to  care 
as  you  do !  " 

"  You  never  can,  Faith !  "  cried  the  young  man,  im- 
petuously. "  I  care  as  a  man  cares !  Let  me  love  you ! 
"are  a  little  for  me,  and  let  it  grow  to  more !  " 

Men,  till  something  is  accorded,  are  willing  to  take  so 
little !  And  then,  straightway,  the  little  must  become  so 
entire  T 

"  Well,  I  declare !  "  exclaimed  Mis'  Battis,  as  Faith 
came  in,  "  Who'd  a  thought  o'  seein'  you  home  to  tea ! 
I  s'pose  you  ain't  had  none  ?  " 

The  fire  was  down, — the  kitchen  stove  immaculate  in 
blackness  from  fresh  polish,  and  the  relict  sat  in  her 
wooden  rocking-chair  opposite  the  door  that  stood  open 
into  the  sitting-room,  with  her  knitting  in  her  hands, 
working  at  it,  dreamily,  in  the  twilight. 

"  Yes — no.  That  is,  I  don't  want  any.  Where  is  my 
mother  ? " 

"  She  and  your  pa's  gone  down  to  Dr.  Wasgatt's.  I 
knew  'twould  be  contrary  to  the  thirty-nine  articles 
that  they  should  get  away  from  there  without  their  sup- 
pers, and  so  I  let  the  fire  right  down,  and  blacked  the 
stove." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Faith,  abstractedly.  "  I  don't 
feel  hungry."  And  she  went  away,  up  stairs. 

"  M !  "  said  Mis'  Battis,  singnificantly,  to  herself, 
running  a  released  knitting-needle  through  her  hair, 
"  Don't  tell  me !  I've  been  through  the  mill !  " 

Half-an-hour  after,  she  came  up  to  Faith's  door. 

"  The  minister's  down  stairs,"  said  she,  "  Hope  to 
goodness  he's  had  his  supper !  " 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  209 

"  Oh,  if  I  dared !  "  thought  Faith ;  and  her  heart 
throbbed  tumultuously.  "  Why  can't  there  be  somebody 
to  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do  ?  " 

If  she  had  dared,  how  she  could  have  leaned  upon 
this  friend!  How  she  could  have  trusted  her  con- 
science and  her  fate  to  his  decision ! 

And  still  the  light  that  lighted  her  to  herself  was  but 
a  glimmer! 

There  was  a  moment  when  a  word  was  almost  on  her 
lips,  that  might  have  changed,  who  knows  ?  so  much  that 
was  to  come  after ! 

"  Does  anything  trouble  you  to-night,  Miss  Faith  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Armstrong,  watching  her  sad,  abstracted 
look  in  one  of  the  silent  pauses  that  broke  their  at- 
tempts at  conversation.  "  Are  you  ill,  or  tired  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  answered  Faith,  quickly,  from  the  sur- 
face, as  one  often  does  when  thoughts  lie  deep.  "  I  am 
quite  well.  Only — I  am  sometimes  puzzled." 

"  About  what  is  ?    Or  about  what  ought  to  be  ?  " 

"  About  doing.  So  much  depends.  I  get  so  tired — 
feeling  how  responsible  everything  makes  me.  I  wish  I 
were  a  little  child  again !  Or  that  somebody  would  just 
take  me  and  tell  me  where  to  go,  and  where  to  stay,  and 
what  to  do,  and  what  not.  From  minute  to  minute,  as 
the  things  come  up." 

Roger  Armstrong,  with  his  great,  chastened  soul, 
yearned  over  the  child  as  she  spoke ;  so  gladly  he  would 
have  taken  her,  at  that  moment,  to  his  heart,  and  bid  her 
lean  on  him  for  all  that  man  might  give  of  help, — of 
love, — of  leading! 

If  she  had  told  him,  in  that  moment,  all  her  doubt,  as 
for  the  instant  of  his  pause  she  caught  her  breath  with 
swelling  impulse  to  do ! 

"  '  And  they  shall  all  be  led  of  God ; '  "  said  the  minis- 


210  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

ter.  "  It  is  only  to  be  willing  to  take  His  way  rather 
than  one's  own.  All  this  that  seems  to  depend  painfully 
upon  one's  self,  depends,  then,  upon  Him.  The  act  is 
human — the  consequences  become  Divine." 

Faith  was  silenced  then.  There  was  no  appeal  to 
human  help  from  that.  Her  impulse  throbbed  itself 
away  into  a  lonely  passiveness  again. 

There  was  a  distance  between  these  two  that  neither 
dared  to  pass. 

A  word  was  spoken  between  mother  and  daughter  as 
they  parted  for  the  night. 

"  Mother !  I  have  such  a  thing  to  think  of, — to  de- 
cide!" 

It  was  whispered  low,  and  with  cheek  hidden  on  her 
mother's  neck,  as  the  good-night  kiss  was  taken. 

"Decide  for  your  own  happiness,  Faithie.  We 
have  seen  and  understood  for  a  long  time.  If  it  is  to  be 
as  we  think,  nothing  could  give  us  a  greater  joy  for  you." 

Ah !  how  much  had  father  and  mother  seen  and  under- 
stood? 

The  daughter  went  her  way,  to  wage  her  own  battle 
in  secret;  to  balance  and  fix  her  decision  between  her 
own  heart  and  God.  So  we  find  ourselves  left,  at  the 
last,  in  all  the  great  crises  of  our  life. 

Late  that  night,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gartney  were 
felicitating  each  other,  cheerily,  upon  the  great  good 
that  had  fallen  to  the  lot  of  their  cherished  child,  that 
child  sat  by  her  open  window,  looking  out  into  the  sum- 
mer night ;  the  tossing  elm-boughs  whispering  weird 
syllables  in  her  ears,  and  the  stars  looking  down  upon 
her  soul-struggle,  so  silently,  from  so  far ! 

"  He  had  cared  for  her  all  his  life."  And  who  had 
been  to  her,  in  the  happy  years  of  the  unthinking  past, 
what  he  had  been  ?  Had  she  a  right  to  do  other  than  to 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  211 

go  on  in  this,  seemingly,  her  appointed  path  of  life? 
Was  not  this  the  "  high  and  holy  work  of  love  "  that  next 
awaited  her  ?  For  father  and  mother  she  had  done,  in 
her  girlish  sacrifice  and  effort,  what  she  could.  Now, 
did  not  a  greater  work  rise  before  her  for  others  ?  and 
no  less,  at  the  same  time,  perhaps,  for  them  ? 

To  take  anxiety  from  them, — to  gratify  what  she  per- 
ceived to  have  been  a  cherished  wish  and  hope  of  theirs 
for  her, — to  leave  them  without  care,  save  for  the  little 
brother  for  whom  they  would  wish  to  do  so  much,  and 
for  whom  they  could  do  so  much  better  when  their 
cares  for  her  were  ended  ?  " 

And  then,  to  help  Paul,  as  he  had  asked  her,  to 
make  a  home  here.  To  build  up  about  them  all  things 
beautiful  and  true.  Influence, — and  all  good  that  comes 
of  influence  and  opportunity.  To  keep  near  them  the 
lofty  counsel  they  both  would  love, — to  be  guided  by  it, 
— to  carry  it  out, — to  live  so  in  a  pure  and  blessed 
friendship,  that  should  exalt  them  both.  What  might 
not  God  will  that  she  should  be  to  Paul, — that  each 
should  be  to  the  other  ? 

Or,  to  cast  down  utterly  all  these  hopes  of  father, 
mother,  and  lover, — to  dash  aside  the  opportunity  set  in 
her  way,  recklessly, — impiously,  it  might  be !  To  carry, 
all  her  life,  a  burden  upon  heart  and  soul,  the  anguish 
she  had  laid  on  one  who  loved  her! 

And  all,  because,  caring  for  him  as  she  surely  did, 
she  had  a  doubt  as  to  whether  she  might  quite  care  as 
he  did, — as  it  was  possible  for  her  to  care ! 

He  had  said  she  could  not  feel  as  he.  That  he  felt  as 
a  man.  Perhaps  it  was  so.  That  a  woman's  love  must 
needs  be  different. 

Woman's  necessity  is  to  lose  herself — to  give  herself 
away.  If  she  be  hindered  from  doing  this,  in  the  sweet 


212  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

and  utter  forgetfulness  of  a  noble  and  unthwarted  affec- 
tion, her  next  impulse  is  to  self-sacrifice. 

There  are  nuns;  there  are  nurses  like  Mehitable 
Sampson ;  there  are  sisters  and  patronesses  of  charity ; 
there  are  hundreds — thousands — like  Faith  Gartney, 
who  marry  from  a  pure,  blind  reaching  for  a  holy  sphere 
of  good.  They  have  entreated  God  to  lead  them.  They 
have  given  up  self,  and  sought  His  work  of  Him.  Does 
He  not  guide  ?  Does  He  not  give  it  ? 

The  whole,  long  story,  that  He  only  sees,  in  its  un- 
folding shall  surely  show. 

"  Mr.  Rushleigh's  here !  "  shouted  Hendie,  precipita- 
ting himself  next  morning,  into  the  breakfast-room, 
where,  at  a  rather  later  hour  than  usual,  Mrs.  Gartney 
and  Faith  were  washing  and  wiping  the  silver  and 
china,  and  Mr.  Gartney  still  lingered  in  his  seat,  finish- 
ing somebody's  long  speech,  reported  in  the  evening 
paper  of  yesterday. 

"  Mr.  Rushleigh's  here,  on  his  long-tailed  black  horse ! 
And  he  s&ys  he'll  give  me  a  ride,  but  not  yet.  He  wants 
to  see  papa.  Make  haste,  papa." 

Faith  dropped  her  towel,  and  as  Mr.  Gartney  rose  to 
go  out  and  meet  his  visitor,  just  whispered,  hurriedly,  to 
her  mother, — 

"  I'll  come  down  again.  I'll  see  him  before  he  goes." 
And  escaped  up  the  kitchen  staircase  to  her  own 
room. 

Paul  Rushleigh  came,  he  told  Mr.  Gartney,  because, 
although  Faith  had  not  authorized  him  to  appeal  to  her 
father  to  ratify  any  consent  of  hers,  he  thought  it  right 
to  let  him  know  what  he  had  already  said  to  his  daugh- 
ter. He  did  not  wish  to  hurry  Faith.  He  only  wished 
to  stand  openly  with  Mr.  Gartney  in  the  matter,  and 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  213 

would  wait,  then,  till  she  should  be  quite  ready  to  give 
him  her  own  answer. 

He  explained  the  prospect  his  father  offered  him,  and 
the  likelihood  of  his  making  a  permanent  home  at 
Kinnicutt. 

"  That  is,"  he  added,  "  if  I  am  to  be  so  happy  as  to 
have  a  home,  anywhere,  of  my  own." 

Mr.  Gartney  was  delighted  with  the  young  man's  un- 
affected warmth  of  heart  and  noble  candor. 

"  I  could  not  wish  better  for  my  daughter,  Mr.  Rush- 
leigh,"  he  replied.  "  And  she  is  a  daughter  whom  I  may 
fairly  wish  the  best  for,  too." 

Paul  Rushleigh  grasped  the  hand  held  out  to  him,  in 
a  strong  gratitude  for  the  favor  shown  himself,  and 
mute,  eloquent  concurrence  in  the  father's  honest  tribute 
to  his  child's  worth. 

Mr.  Gartney  rose.    "  I  will  send  Faith,"  said  he, 

"  I  do  not  ask  for  her,"  answered  Paul,  a  flush  of 
feeling  showing  in  his  cheek.  "  I  did  not  come,  ex- 
pecting it ; — my  errand  was  one  I  owed  to  yourself ; — 
but  Faith  knows  quite  well  how  glad  I  shall  be  if  she 
chooses  to  see  me." 

As  Mr.  Gartney  crossed  the  hall  from  parlor  to  sit- 
ting-room, a  light  step  came  over  the  front  staircase. 

Faith  passed  her  father,  with  a  downcast  look,  as  he 
motioned  with  his  hand  toward  the  room  where  Paul 
stood,  waiting.  The  bright  color  spread  to  her  temples 
as  she  glided  in. 

She  held,  but  did  not  wear,  the  little  turquoise  ring. 

Paul  saw  it,  as  he  came  forward,  eagerly. 

A  thrill  of  hope,  or  dread, — he  scarce  knew  which, — 
quivered  suddenly  at  his  heart.  Was  he  to  take  it  back, 
or  place  it  on  her  finger  as  a  pledge  ? 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Paul,"  said  she,  tremulously, 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

and  with  eyes  that  fell  again  away  from  his,  after  the 
first  glance  and  greeting,  "  almost  ever  since.  And  I 
do  not  think  I  ought  to  keep  you  waiting  to  know  the 
little  I  can  tell  you.  I  do  not  think  I  understand  my- 
self. I  cannot  tell,  certainly,  how  I  ought — how  I  do 
feel.  I  have  liked  you  very  much.  And  it  was  very 
pleasant  to  me  before  all  this.  I  know  you  deserve  to 
be  made  very  happy.  And  if  it  depends  on  me,  I  do 
not  dare  to  say  I  will  not  try  to  do  it.  If  you  think, 
yourself,  that  this  is  enough, — that  I  shall  do  the  truest 
thing  so, — I  will  try." 

And  the  timid  little  fingers  laid  the  ring  into  his 
hand,  to  do  with  as  he  would. 

What  else  could  Paul  have  done  ? 

With  the  strong  arm  that  should  henceforth  uphold 
and  guard  her,  he  drew  her  close;  and  with  the  other 
hand  slipped  the  simply  jewelled  round  upon  her  finger. 
For  all  word  of  answer,  he  lifted  it,  so  encircled,  to  his 
lips. 

Faith  shrank  and  trembled. 

Hendie's  voice  sounded,  juhilant,  along  the  upper 
floor,  toward  the  staircase. 

"  I  will  go,  now,  if  you  wish.  Perhaps  I  ought,"  said 
Paul.  "  And  yet,  I  would  so  gladly  stay.  May  I  come 
again,  by-and-by  ? " 

Faith  uttered  a  half-audible  assent,  and  as  Hendie's 
step  came  nearer  down  the  stairs,  and  passed  the  door, 
straight  out  upon  the  grass-plot,  toward  the  gate,  and  the 
long-tailed  black  horse  that  stood  there,  she  escaped 
again  to  her  own  chamber. 

Hendie  had  his  ride.  Meanwhile,  his  sister,  down 
upon  her  knees  at  her  bedside,  struggled  with  the  mys- 
tery and  doubt  of  her  own  heart.  Why  could  she  not  feel 
happier  ?  Would  it  never  be  otherwise  ?  Was  this  all 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  215 

life  had  for  her,  in  its  holiest  gift,  henceforth?     But, 
come  Avhat  might,  she  would  have  God,  always ! 

So,  without  words,  only  with  tears,  she  prayed,  and  at 
last,  grew  calm. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CONFLICT. 

"  O  Life,  O  Beyond, 
Art  thou  fair  I — art  them  sweet?  " 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

WE  live  two  lives.  A  life  of  our  deepest  thought 
and  feeling,  that  gets  stirred  but  seldom ;  and  a  surface- 
life  among  things  and  words. 

The  great  events  that  come  to  us  wear  two  aspects. 
One  when  we  look  at  them  from  the  inmost,  and  measure 
them  in  all  their  mighty  relation  to  what  is  everlasting ; 
and  again  another  as  they  affect  only  the  little  outward 
details  of  doing. 

One  hour,  we  are  alone  before  God,  and  the  soul's 
grasp  stretches  out  toward  the  Infinite.  All  that  befalls 
or  may  befall  it,  then  seems  great,  momentous.  We 
sleep, — we  rise, — we  are  our  daily  petty  selves  again, — 
presences  and  voices  come  about  that  call  us  back  into 
our  superficial  round, — and,  underneath,  for  weal  or 
woe,  the  silenced  tide  of  our  real  being  surges  onward — 
whither  ? 

So  the  river  freezes  over,  and  bears  a  merriment  upon 
its  bosom.  So  the  great  earth  whereon  we  dwell  wears 
its  crust  of  hills  and  plains  and  cities  above  its  ever- 
lasting fires. 


216  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

There  followed  days  that  almost  won  Faith  back  into 
her  outward  life  of  pleasantness. 

Margaret  came  over  with  Madam  Rushleigh,  and 
felicitated  herself  and  friend,  impetuously.  Paul's 
mother  thanked  her  for  making  her  son  happy.  Old 
Mr.  Rushleigh  kissed  her  forhead  with  a  blessing.  And 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gartney  looked  upon  their  daughter  as 
with  new  eyes  of  love.  Hendie  rode  the  black  horse 
every  day,  and  declared  that  "  everything  was  just  as 
jolly  as  it  could  be !  " 

Paul  drove  her  out,  and  walked  with  her,  and  talked 
of  his  plans,  and  all  they  would  do  and  have  together. 

And  she  let  herself  be  brightened  by  all  this  out- 
ward cheer  and  promise,  and  this  looking  forward  to  a 
happiness  and  use  that  were  to  come.  But  still  she 
shrank  and  trembled  at  every  lover-like  caress,  and  still 
she  said,  fearfully,  every  now  and  then, — 

"  Paul, — I  don't  feel  as  you  do.  What  if  I  don't  love 
you  as  I  ought  ?  " 

And  Paul  called  her  his  little  oversensitive,  con- 
scientious Faithie,  and  persuaded  himself  and  her  that 
he  had  no  fear — that  he  was  quite  satisfied. 

When  Mr.  Armstrong  came  to  see  her,  gravely  and 
tenderly  wishing  her  joy,  and  looked  searchingly  into 
her  face  for  the  pure  content  that  should  be  there,  she 
bent  her  head  into  her  hands,  and  wept. 

She  was  very  weak,  you  say?  She  ought  to  have 
known  her  own  mind  better  ?  Perhaps.  I  speak  of 'lie; 
as  she  was.  There  are  mistakes  like  these  in  life ;  there 
are  hearts  that  suffer  thus,  unconscious  of  their  ail. 

The  minister  waited  while  the  momentary  burst  of 
emotion  subsided,  and  something  of  Faith's  wonted 
manner  returned. 

"  It  is  very  foolish  of  me,"  she  said,  "  and  you  must 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  217 

think  me  very  strange.  But,  somehow,  tears  come  easily 
when  one  has  been  feeling  a  great  deal.  And  such  kind 
words  from  you  touch  me." 

"  My  words  and  thoughts  will  always  be  kind  for  you, 
my  child.  And  I  know  very  well  that  tears  may  mean 
sweeter  and  deeper  things  than  smiles.  I  will  not  try 
you  with  much  talking  now.  You  have  my  affectionate 
wishes  and  my  prayers.  If  there  is  ever  any  help  that  I 
can  give,  to  you  who  have  so  much  loving  help  about 
you,  colmt  on  me  as  an  earnest  friend,  always." 

The  hour  was  past  when  Faith,  if  she  could  ever, 
could  have  asked  of  him  the  help  she  did  most  sorely 
need. 

And  so,  with  a  gentle  hand-clasp,  he  went  away. 

Mr.  Gartney  began  to  be  restless  about  Michigan.  He 
wanted  to  go  and  see  this  wild  estate  of  his.  He  would 
have  liked  to  take  his  wife,  now  that  haying  would  soon 
be  over,  and  he  could  spare  the  time  from  his  farm,  and 
make  it  a  pleasant  summer  journey  for  them  both.  But 
he  could  neither  leave  Faith,  nor  take  her,  well,  it 
seemed.  Hendie  might  go.  Fathers  always  think  their 
boys  ready  for  the  world  when  once  they  are  fairly  out 
of  the  nursery. 

One  day,  Paul  came  to  Cross  Corners  with  news. 

Mr.  Rushdleigh  had  affairs  to  be  arranged  and  looked 
to,  in  New  York, — matters  connected  with  the  mills, 
which  had,  within  a  few  weeks,  begun  to  run ; — he  had 
been  there,  once,  about  them;  he  could  do  all  quite  well, 
now,  by  letter,  and  an  authorized  messenger;  he  could 
not  just  now  very  well  leave  Kinnicutt.  Besides,  he 
wanted  Paul  to  see  and  know  his  business  friends,  and 
to  put  himself  in  the  way  of  valuable  business  infor- 
mation. Would  Faith  spare  him  for  a  week  or  two, — 
he  bade  his  son  to  ask. 


218  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Madam  Rushleigh  would  accompany  Paul;  and  before 
his  return  he  would  go  with  his  mother  to  Saratoga, 
where  her  daughter  Gertrude  and  Mrs.  Philip  Rushleigh 
were,  and  where  he  was  to  leave  her  for  the  remainder  of 
their  stay. 

Margaret  liked  Kinnicutt  better  than  any  watering- 
place;  and  she  and  her  father  had  made  a  little  plan  of  I 
their  own,  which,  if  Faith  would  go  back  with  him,  they) 
would  explain  to  her. 

So  Faith  went  over  to  Lakeside  to  tea,  and  heard  the 
plan. 

"  We  are  going  to  make  our  first  claim  upon  you, 
Faith,"  said  the  elder  Mr.  Rushleigh,  as  he  led  his 
daughter-in-law  elect  out  on  the  broad  piazza  under  the 
Italian  awnings,  when  the  slight  summer  evening  re- 
past was  ended.  "  We  want  to  borrow  you,  while 
madam  and  the  yonker  are  gone.  Your  father  tells  me 
he  wishes  to  make  a  western  journey.  Now,  why  not 
send  him  off  at  this  very  time  ?  I  think  your  mother  in- 
tends accompanying  him  ?  " 

"  It  had  been  talked  of,"  Faith  said ;  "  and  perhaps 
her  father  would  be  very  glad  to  go  when  he  could  leave 
her  in  such  good  keeping.  She  would  tell  him  what 
Mr.  Rushleigh  had  been  so  kind  as  to  propose." 

It  was  a  suggestion  of  real  rest  to  Faith, — tnis  free 
companionship  with  Margaret  again,  in  the  old  girlish 
fashion, — and  the  very  thoughtful  look,  that  was  almost 
sad,  which  had  become  habitual  to  her  face,  of  late, 
brightened  into  the  old,  careless  pleasure,  as  she  spoke. 

Mr.  Rushleigh  noted.  A  little  doubt,  like  a  quick 
shade,  crossed  him,  for  the  first  time. 

It  was  almost  like  a  look  of  relief.  And  Paul  was  to 
be  away! 

Paul  and  his  mother  came  out  on  the  piazza,  and 


PAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  219 

Madam  Rushleigh  drew  Faith  to  a  place  between  them, 
on  the  wide  Indian  settee. 

Margaret  went  to  the  piano,  and  sang  her  twilight 
songs.  And  the  sweet  tones  floated  out  from  the  open 
windows,  and  lingered  about  them  as  they  sat  there ;  and 
then  diffused  themselves  away  upon  the  still,  warm  air, 
into  faint  vibrations,  lost  to  human  hearing ;  yet  spread- 
ing,— who  can  tell  ?  perhaps, — in  a  rare,  ethereal  joy  of 
melody,  the  mere  soul  of  music,  whereof  the  form,  like 
all  other  form,  may  die,  while  the  spirit,  once  evoked, 
lives  on  forever,  and  reaching  with  each  thinned,  succes- 
sive wave,  some  listening,  adapted  sense  in  the  great 
deep  of  being. 

The  elegant  comfort,  the  refined  pleasantness,  the 
family  joy  that  reigned  in  the  Rushleighs'  home,  and 
that  welcomeed  and  took  Faith  in,  and  mader  her  an  es- 
sential part  of  it, — how  could  it  help  but  win  her  to  a 
glad  content  ?  All  these  accompanying  relationships  and 
circumstances  made  an  exterior  sphere  for  her  that  was 
so  suited  to  her  feeling  and  her  taste,  that  in  it  she 
always  lost,  for  the  moment,  her  doubt,  and  accepted, 
involuntarily,  the  obvious  good  of  this,  her  secondary 
life. 

It  was  only  when  she  forgot  all  else,  and  turned  her 
thought,  self-searchingly,  to  her  tie  with  him  who  was  to 
be  the  life-long,  unchanging  centre,  henceforth,  of  what- 
ever world,  in  all  the  years  to  come,  might  gather  and 
shift  about  her,  that  the  fear  and  the  shrinking  came 
back. 

She  was  happier,  somehow,  when  father,  mother,  and 
sister,  with  their  winning  endearments,  were  all  about 
her  with  him,  than  when  he  claimed  her  to  himself,  and 
sought  to  speak  or  show  his  tenderness. 


220  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Old  Mr.  Rushleigh  saw  something  in  this  that  began 
to  seem  to  him  more  than  mere  maidenly  shyness. 

By-and-by,  Margaret  called  her  brother  to  sing  with 
her. 

"  Come,  Faithie,"  said  Paul,  as  he  rose,  drawing 
her  gently  by  the  hand.  "  I  can't  sing  unless  you  go, 
too." 

Faith  went;  more,  it  seemed,  of  his  will,  than  her 
own. 

"  How  does  that  appear  to  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Rushleigh 
to  his  wife.  "  Is  it  all  right  ?  Does  the  child  care  for 
Paul  ?  " 

"  Care !  "  exclaimed  the  mother,  almost  surprised  into 
too  audible  speech.  "  How  can  she  help  caring  ?  And 
hasn't  it  grown  up  from  childhood  with  them?  What 
put  such  a  question  into  your  head  ?  I  should  as  soon 
think  of  doubting  whether  I  cared  for  you." 

It  was  easier  for  the  father  to  doubt,  jealously,  for 
his  son,  than  for  the  mother  to  conceive  the  possibility  of 
indifference  in  the  woman  her  boy  had  chosen. 

"  Besides,"  added  Mrs.  Rushleigh,  "  why,  else,  should 
she  have  accepted  him  ?  I  know  Faith  Gartney  is  not 
mercenary,  or  worldly  ambitious." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  of  that,  as  well,"  answered  her  hus- 
band. "  It  is  no  doubt  of  her  motive  or  her  worth, — I 
can't  say  it  is  really  a  doubt  of  anything ;  but,  Gertrude, 
she  must  not  marry  the  boy  unless  her  whole  heart  is  in 
it !  A  sharp  stroke  is  better  than  a  life-long  pain." 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell  what  has  come  over  you !  She 
can't  ever  have  thought  of  anybody  else!  And  she 
seems  quite  one  of  ourselves." 

"  Yes ;  that's  just  the  uncertainty,"  replied  Mr. 
Rushleigh.  "  Whether  it  isn't  as  much  Margaret,  and 
you  and  I,  as  Paul.  Whether  she  fully  knows  what  she 


FAITH  GARTNERS   GIRLHOOD.  221 

is  about.  She  can't  marry  the  family,  you  know.  We 
shall  die,  and  go  off,  and  Heaven  knows  what;  Paul 
must  be  the  whole  world  to  her,  or  nothing.  I  hope  he 
hasn't  hurried  her, — or  let  her  hurry  herself." 

"  Hurry !  She  has  had  years  to  make  up  her  mind 
in!" 

Mrs.  Rushleigh,  woman  as  she  was,  would  not  under 
stand. 

"  We  shall  go,  in  three  days,"  said  Paul,  when  he 
stood  in  the  moonlight  with  Faith  at  the  little  white  gate 
under  the  elms,  after  driving  her  home ;  "  and  I  must 
have  you  all  the  time  to  myself,  until  then !  " 

Faith  wondered  if  it  were  right  that  she  shouldn't 
quite  care  to  be  "  had  all  the  time  to  himself  until 
then  "  ?  Whether  such  demonstrativeness  and  exclusive- 
ness  of  affection  was  ever  a  little  irksome  to  others  as  to 
her? 

Faith  thought  and  questioned,  often,  what  other  girls 
might  feel  in  positions  like  her  own,  and  tried  to  judge 
herself  by  them;  it  absolutely  never  occurred  to  her  to 
think  how  it  might  have  been  if  another  than  Paul  had 
stood  in  this  relation  toward  herself. 

The  young  man  did  not  quite  have  his  own  way,  how- 
ever. His  father  went  down  to  Mishaumok  on  one  of 
the  three  days,  and  left  him  in  charge  at  the  mills ;  and 
there  were  people  to  see,  and  arrangements  to  make ;  but 
some  part  of  each  day  he  did  manage  to  devote  to  Faith, 
and  they  had  walking  and  driving  together,  and  every 
night  Paul  stayed  to  tea  at  Cross  Corners. 

On  the  last  evening,  they  sat  together,  by  the  hill-side 
door,  in  the  summer  parlor. 

"Faithie,"  said  Paul,  a  little  suddenly,  "there  is 
something  you  must  do  for  me — do  you  know  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Faith,  quite  calmly. 


222  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  You  must  wear  this,  now,  and  keep  the  forget-me- 
not  for  a  guard." 

He  held  her  hand,  that  wore  the  ring,  in  one  of  his, 
and  there  was  a  flash  of  diamonds  as  he  brought  the 
other  toward  it. 

Then  Faith  gave  a  quick,  strange  cry. 

"I  can't!  I  can't!  Oh,  Paul!  don't  ask  me!" 
And  her  hand  was  drawn  from  the  clasp  of  his,  and  her 
face  was  hidden  in  both  her  own. 

Paul  drew  back — hurt,  silent. 

"  If  I  ceuld  only  wait !  "  she  murmured.  "  I  don't 
dare,  yet ! " 

She  could  wear  the  forget-me-not,  as  she  wore  the 
memory  of  all  their  long  young  friendship,  it  belonged 
to  the  past;  but  this  definite  pledge  for  the  future, — 
these  diamonds ! 

"  Do  you  not  quite  belong  to  me,  even  yet  ?  "  asked 
Paul,  with  a  resentment,  yet  a  loving  and  patient  one, 
in  his  voice. 

"  I  told  you,"  said  Faith,  "  that  I  would  try— to  be 
to  you  as  you  wish;  but  Paul!  if  I  couldn't  be  so, 
truly  ? — I  don't  know  why  I  feel  so  uncertain.  Perhaps 
it  is  because  you  care  for  me  too  much.  Your  thought 
for  me  is  so  great,  that  mine,  when  I  look  at  it,  never 
seems  worthy." 

Paul  was  a  man.  He  could  not  sue,  too  cringingly, 
even  for  Faith  Gartney's  love. 

"  And  I  told  you,  Faith,  that  I  was  satisfied  to  be 
allowed  to  love  you.  That  you  should  love  me  a  little, 
and  let  it  grow  to  more.  But  if  it  is  not  love  at  all, — if 
I  frighten  you,  and  repel  you, — I  have  no  wish  to  make 
you  unhappy.  I  must  let  you  go.  And  yet — oh, 
Faith!  "  he  cried, — the  sternness  all  gone,  and  only  the 
wild  love  sweeping  through  his  heart,  and  driving  wild 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  £23 

words  before  it, — "  it  can't  be  that  it  is  no  love,  after 
all !  It  would  be  too  cruel !  " 

At  those  words,  "  I  must  let  you  go,"  spoken  ap- 
parently with  calmness,  as  if  it  could  be  done,  Faith  felt 
a  bound  of  freedom  in  her  soul.  If  he  would  let  her  go, 
and  care  for  her  in  the  old  way,  only  as  a  friend !  But 
the  strong  passionate  accents  came  after;  and  the  old 
battle  of  doubt  and  pity  and  remorse  surged  up  again, 
and  the  cloud  of  their  strife  dimmed  all  perception,  save 
that  she  was  very,  very  wretched. 

She  sobbed,  silently. 

"  Don't  let  us  say  good-bye,  so,"  said  Paul.  "  Don't 
let  us  quarrel.  We  will  let  all  wait,  as  you  wish,  till  I 
come  home  again." 

So  he  still  clung  to  her,  and  held  her,  half-bound. 

"  And  your  father,  Paul  ?  And  Margaret  ?  How 
can  I  let  them  receive  me  as  they  do, — how  can  I  go  to 
them  as  I  have  promised,  in  all  this  indecision  ? " 

"  They  want  you,  Faith,  for  your  own  sake.  There  is 
no  need  for  you  to  disappoint  them.  It  is  better  to  say 
nothing  more  until  we  do  know.  I  ask  it  of  you, — 
do  not  refuse  me  this, — to  let  all  rest  just  here;  to  make 
no  difference  until  I  come  back.  You  will  let  me  write, 
Faith?" 

"  Why,  yes,  Paul,"  she  said,  wonderingly. 

Is  was  so  hard  for  her  to  comprehend  that  it  could 
not  be  with  him,  any  longer,  as  it  had  been;  that  his 
written  or  his  spoken  word  could  not  be,  for  a  time,  at 
least,  mere  friendly  any  more. 

And  so  she  gave  him,  unwittingly,  this  hope  to  go 
with. 

"  I  think  you  do  care  for  me,  Faith,  if  you  only 
knew  it !  "  said  he,  half  sadly  and  very  wistfully,  aa 
they  parted. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  I  do  care,  very  much,"  Faith  answered,  simply  and 
earnestly.  "  I  never  can  help  caring.  It  is  only  that 
I  am  afraid  I  care  so  differently  from  you !  " 

She  was  nearer  loving  him  at  that  moment,  than  she 
had  ever  been. 

Who  shall  attempt  to  bring  into  accord  the  seeming 
contradictions  of  a  woman's  heart? 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A   GAME    AT    CHESS. 

"  Life's  burdens  fall,  its  discords  cease, 
I  lapse  into  the  glad  release 
Of  nature's  own  exceeding  peace." 

WHITTIER. 

"I  DON'T  see,"  said  Aunt  Faith,  "why  the  child 
can't  come  to  me,  Henderson,  while  you  and  Elizabeth 
are  away.  I  don't  believe  in  putting  yourself  under 
obligations  to  people  till  you're  sure  they're  going  to 
be  something  to  you.  Things  don't  always  turn  out 
according  to  the  Almanac." 

"  She  goes  just  as  she  always  has  gone  to  the  Rush- 
leighs,"  replied  Mr.  Gartney.  "  Paul  is  to  be  away.  It 
is  a  visit  to  Margaret.  Still,  I  shall  be  absent  at  least 
a  fortnight,  and  it  might  be  well  that  she  should  divide 
her  time,  and  come  to  Cross  Corners  for  a  few  days, 
if  it  is  only  to  see  the  house  opened  and  ready.  Luther 
can  have  a  bed  here,  if  Mis'  Battis  should  be  afraid." 

Mis'  Battis  was  to  improve  the  fortnight's  interval  for 
a  visit  to  Factory  Village. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  225 

"  Well,  fix  it  your  own  way/'  said  Miss  Henderson. 
"  I'm  ready  for  her,  any  time.  Only,  if  she's  going  to 
peak  and  pine  as  she  has  done  ever  since  this  grand 
match  was  settled  for  her,  Glory  and  I'll  have  our  hands 
full,  nursing  her,  by  then  you  get  back !  " 

"  Faith  is  quite  well,"  said  Mrs.  Gartney.  "  It  is 
natural  for  a  girl  to  be  somewhat  thoughtful  when  she 
decides  for  herself  such  an  important  relation." 

"  Symptoms  differ,  in  different  cases.  I  should  say 
she  was  taking  it  pretty  hard,"  said  the  old  lady. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gartney  left  home  on  Monday. 

Faith  and  Mis'  Battis  remained  in  the  house  a  few 
hours  after,  setting  all  things  in  that  dreary  "  to  rights  " 
before  leaving,  which  is  almost,  in  its  chillness  and  si- 
lence, like  burial  array.  Glory  came  over  to  help ;  and 
when  all  was  done, — blinds  shut,  windows  and  doors 
fastened,  fire  out,  ashes  removed, — stove  blackened, — 
Luther  drove  Mis'  Battis  and  her  box  over  to  Mrs. 
Pranker's,  and  Glory  took  Faith's  little  bag  for  her  to 
the  Old  House. 

This  night  she  was  to  stay  with  her  aunt.  She 
wanted  just  this  little  pause  and  quiet  before  going  to 
the  Rushleighs*. 

"  Tell  Aunt  Faith  I'm  coming,"  said  she,  as  she  let 
herself  and  Glory  out  at  the  front  door,  and  then, 
locking  it,  put  the  key  in  her  pocket.  "  I'll  just  walk 
up  over  the  Eidge  first,  for  a  little  coolness  and  quiet, 
after  this  busy  day." 

It  had  been  truly  so  busy,  that  Faith  had  had  no 
time  for  facing  her  intruding  thoughts ;  but  put  them  all 
off,  and  thrust  them  back,  as  it  were,  into  the  ante- 
chamber of  her  mind,  to  be  bidden  in  when  she  should 
be  more  at  leisure;  and  even  yet,  she  would  not  let 
them  crowd  upon  her  with  their  importunate  errands. 
15 


226  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

She  wanted  just  this  little  time  for  respite.  This 
Monday  evening  should  be  all  peaceful.  There  was  a 
natural  reaction  from  the  tense  strain  that  had  been 
upon  thought  and  feeling,  that  made  this  at  once  an 
instinct  and  a  possibility.  She  held  herself  in  a  passive- 
Bess  that  wquld,  for  a  while,  neither  feel  nor  consider. 

She  walked  up  the  shady  path  to  the  bowlder  rock, 
and  cradled  herself  in  its  stony  hollow, — just  where  she 
had  sat  and  listened,  weeks  before,  to  Roger  Arm- 
strong's story. 

The  summer  sweetness,  distilled  all  day  by  the  glow- 
ing sun  out  of  all  growing  things,  came  up  to  and  around 
her.  Beauty  and  stillness  folded  her  as  in  a  garment. 
She  was  in  God's  world  still !  Whatever  world  of  fear 
and  doubt  and  struggle  her  spirit  might  be  groping  in- 
to, dimly,  things  outside  her  were  unchanged.  She 
would  come  back  into,  and  live  in  them  for  a  few  brief 
hours  of  utter  and  childlike  calm. 

There  was  the  peace  of  a  rested  body  and  soul  upon 
her  face  when  she  came  down  again  a  half  hour  after, 
and  crossed  the  lane,  and  entered,  through  the  stile, 
upon  the  field-path  to  the  Old  House.  Heart  and  will 
had  been  laid  asleep, — earthly  plan  and  purpose  had 
been  put  aside  in  all  their  incompleteness  and  uncer- 
tainty,— and  only  God  and  Nature  had  been  permitted 
to  come  near. 

Mr.  Armstrong  walked  down  and  met  her  midway  in 
the  field. 

"  How  beautiful  mere  simpleness  and  quiet  are," 
said  Faith.  "  The  cool  look  of  trees  and  grass,  and  the 
stillness  of  this  evening  time,  are  better  even  than 
flowers,  and  bright  sunlight,  and  singing  of  birds !  " 

"  (  He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures :  He 
leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters:  He  restoreth  my 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S  GIRLHOOD.  227 

soul:  He  leadeth  me  in  the  paths  of  righteousness  for 
His  name's  sake.' ' 

They  did  not  disturb  the  stillness  by  more  words. 
They  came  up  together,  in  the  hush  and  shadow,  to  the 
pleasant  door-stone,  that  offered  its  broad  invitation  to 
their  entering  feet,  and  where  Aunt  Faith  at  this 
moment  stood,  watching  and  awaiting  them. 

"  Go  into  the  blue  bedroom,  and  lay  off  your  things, 
child,"  she  said,  giving  Faith  a  kiss  of  welcome,  "  and 
then  come  back  and  we'll  have  our  tea." 

Faith  disappeared  through  passages  and  rooms  be- 
yond. 

Aunt  Henderson  turned  quickly  to  the  minister. 

"  You're  her  spiritual  adviser,  ain't  you  ?  "  she  asked, 
abruptly. 

"  I  ought  to  be,"  answered  Mr.  Armstrong. 

"  Why  don't  you  advise  her  then  ? " 

"  Spiritually,  I  do  and  will,  in  so  far  as  so  pure  a 
spirit  can  need  a  help  from  me.  But, — I  think  I  know 
what  you  mean,  Miss  Henderson, — spirit  and  heart  are 
two.  I  am  a  man ;  and  she  is — what  you  know." 

Miss  Henderson's  keen  eyes  fixed  themselves,  for  a 
minute,  piercingly  and  unflinchingly,  on  the  minister's 
face.  Then  she  turned,  without  a  word,  and  went  into 
the  house  to  see  the  tea  brought  in.  She  knew,  now,  all 
there  was  to  tell. 

Faith's  face  interpreted  itself  to  Mr.  Armstrong.  He 
saw  that  she  needed,  that  she  would  have,  rest.  Rest, 
this  night,  from  all  that  of  late  had  given  her  weariness 
and  trouble.  So,  he  did  not  even  talk  to  her  in  the  way 
they  mostly  talked  together;  he  would  not  rouse,  ever 
so  distantly,  thought,  that  might,  by  so  many  subtle 
links,  bear  round  upon  her  hidden  pain.  But  he 
brought, — after  tea,  when  the  faint  little  shaded  lamp, 


228  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

that  hardly  quarrelled  with  the  twilight,  or,  if  it  did, 
made  nothing  more  than  a  drawn  battle  of  it,  so  that  dor- 
bugs  and  mosquitoes  could  not  make  up  their  minds, 
positively,  that  they  should  do  better  inside  than  out, 
was  lit  in  the  southeast  room, — a  tiny  chess-board,  and 
set  the  delicate  carved  men  upon  it,  and  asked  her  if 
she  knew  the  game. 

"  A  little,"  she  said.  "  What  everybody  always  owns 
to  knowing — the  moves." 

"  Suppose  we  play." 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  novelty, — sitting  down  with 
this  grave,  earnest  friend  to  a  game  of  skill, — and  seeing 
him  bring  to  it  all  the  resource  of  power  and  thought 
that  he  bent,  at  other  times,  on  more  important  work. 

Whatever  Roger  Armstrong  did,  he  did  with  the 
might  that  was  in  him. 

"Not  that,  Miss  Faith!  You  don't  mean  that! 
You  put  your  queen  in  danger." 

"My  queen  is  always  a  great  trouble  to  me,"  said 
Faith,  smiling,  as  she  retracted  the  half-made  move. 
"  I  think  I  do  better  when  I  give  her  up  in  exchange." 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Faith ;  but  that  always  seems  to 
me  a  cowardly  sort  of  game.  It  is  like  giving  up  a  great 
power  in  life  because  one  is  too  weak  to  claim  and  hold 
it." 

"  Only  I  make  you  lose  yours,  too." 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  double  loss  and  inefficiency.  Docs 
that  make  a  better  game,  or  one  pleasanter  to  play  ?  " 

"  There  are  two  people,  in  there,  talking  riddles ; 
and  they  don't  even  know  it,"  said  Miss  Henderson  to 
her  handmaid,  in  the  kitchen  close  by. 

Perhaps  Mr.  Armstrong,  as  he  spoke,  did  discern  a 
possible  deeper  significance  in  his  own  words;  did  mis- 
give himself  that  he  might  rouse  thoughts  so;  at  any 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  229 

rate,  he  made  rapid,  skilful  movements  on  the  board, 
that  brought  the  game  into  new  complications,  and 
taxed  all  Faith's  attention  to  avert  their  dangers  to  her- 
self. 

For  half  an  hour,  there  was  no  more  talking. 

Then  Faith's  queen  was  put  in  helpless  peril. 

"  I  must  give  her  up,"  said  she.  "  She  is  all  but 
'gone." 

A  few  moves  more,  and  all  Faith's  hope  depended  on 
one  little  pawn,  that  might  be  pushed  to  queen  and  save 
her  game. 

"  How  one  does  want  the  queen-power  at  the  last !  " 
said  she.  "  And  how  much  easier  it  is  to  lose  it,  than 
to  get  it  back !  " 

"  It  is  like  the  one  great,  leading  possibility,  that 
life,  in  some  sort,  offers  each  of  us,"  said  Mr.  Arm- 
strong. "  Once  lost, — once  missed, — we  may  struggle 
on  without  it, — we  may  push  little  chances  forward  to 
partial  amends;  but  the  game  is  changed;  its  soul  is 
gone." 

As  he  spoke  he  made  the  move  that  led  to  obvious 
check-mate. 

Glory  came  in  to  the  cupboard,  now,  and  began  put- 
ting up  the  tea-things  she  had  brought  from  washing. 

Mr.  Armstrong  had  done  just  what,  at  first,  he  had 
meant  not  to  do.  Had  he  bethought  himself  better,  and 
did  he  seize  the  opening  to  give  vague  warning  where  he 
might  not  speak  more  plainly?  Or,  had  his  habit,  as 
a  man  of  thought,  discerning  quick  meaning  in  all 
things,  betrayed  him  into  the  instant's  forgetfulness  ? 

However  it  might  be,  Glory  caught  glimpse  of  two 
strange,  pained  faces  over  the  little  board  and  its  mystic 
pieces. 

One,  pale, — downcast, — with  expression  showing  a 


230  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

sudden  pang;  the  other,  suffering  also,  yet  tender,  self- 
forgetful,  loving,— looking  on. 

"  I  don't  know  whichever  is  worst,"  she  said  after- 
ward, without  apparent  suggestion  of  word  or  circum- 
stance, to  her  mistress ;  "  to  see  the  beautiful  times  that 
there  are  in  the  world,  and  not  be  in  'em, — or  to  see 
people  that  might  be  in  'em,  and  ain't !  " 

They  were  all  out  on  the  front  stoop,  later.  They  sat 
in  the  cool,  summer  dusk,  and  looked  out  between  the 
arched  lattices  where  the  vines  climbed  up,  seeing  the 
stars  rise,  far  away,  eastwardly,  in  the  blue;  and  Mr. 
Armstrong,  talking  with  Faith,  managed  to  win  her 
back  into  the  calm  he  had,  for  an  instant,  broken;  and 
to  keep  her  from  pursuing  the  thought  that  by-and-by 
would  surely  come  back,  and  which  she  would  surely 
want  all  possible  gain  of  strength  to  grapple  with. 

Faith  met  his  intention  bravely,  seconding  it  with 
her  own.  These  hours,  to  the  last,  should  still  be  rest- 
ful. She  would  not  think,  to-night,  of  those  words 
that  had  startled  her  so, — of  all  they  suggested  or  might 
mean, — of  life's  great  possibility  lost  to  him,  away  back 
in  the  sorrowful  past,  as  she  also,  perhaps  was  missing 
it, — relinquishing  it, — now. 

She  knew  not  that  his  thought  had  been  utterly  self- 
forgetful.  She  believed  that  he  had  told  her,  indirectly, 
of  himself,  when  he  had  spoken  those  dreary  syllables, 
— "  the  game  is  changed.  Its  soul  is  gone !  " 

Singularly,  that  night  again,  as  on  the  night  so  long 
ago,  when  Faith  had  come  on  her  little  visit  of  ex- 
ploration to  Kinnicutt,  the  lesson  read  them  from  the 
Bible  was  that  miracle  of  the  loaves  and  fishes. 

A  comfort  came  to  Faith,  as  she  listened ;  as  the  com- 
fort we  need  at  the  moment  always  does  come,  by  the 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  231 

instant  gift  of  the  Spirit,  through  whatever  Gospel- 
words  may  be  its  vehicle. 

The  loaves  might  be  few  and  small;  life  might  be 
scant  and  insufficient  seemingly;  yet  a  touch  Divine 
should  multiply  the  food,  and  make  it  ample! 

Nevertheless, — did  she  remember  this?  That,  but 
the  next  day  after,  the  disciples,  with  this  recognized 
Divineness  at  their  side,  stood  self -rebuked,  because  they 
had  neglected  to  make  for  themselves  such  human 
provision  as  they  might  have  done  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LAKESIDE. 

"  Look !  are  the  southern  curtains  drawn? 
Fetch  me  a  fan,  and  so  begone  t 
......  • 

Rain  me  sweet  odors  on  the  air, 
And  wheel  me  up  my  Indian  chair  ; 
And  spread  some  book  not  overwise 
Flat  out  before  my  sleepy  eyes." 

O.  W.  HOLMES. 

THE  Rushleighs'  breakfast-room  at  Lakeside  was 
very  lovely  in  a  summer's  morning. 

Looking  off,  northwestwardly,  across  the  head  of  the 
Pond,  the  long  windows,  opening  down  to  the  piazza,  let 
in  all  the  light  and  joy  of  the  early  day,  and  that  inde- 
scriable  freshness  born  from  the  union  of  woods  and 
water. 

Faith  had  come  down  long  before  the  others,  this 
fair  Wednesday  morning. 


232  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Mr.  Rushleigh  found  her,  .when  he  entered,  sitting  by 
a  window, — a  book  upon  her  lap,  to  be  sure, — bat  her 
eyes  away  off  over  the  lake,  and  a  look  in  them  that 
told  of  thoughts  horizoned  yet  more  distantly. 

Last  night,  he  had  brought  home  Paul's  first  letter. 

When  he  gave  it  to  her,  at  tea-time,  with  a  gay  and 
kindly  word,  the  color  that  deepened  vividly  upon  her 
face,  and  the  quiet  way  in  which  she  laid  it  down  beside 
her  plate,  were  nothing  strange,  perhaps ;  but — was  he 
wrong?  the  eyes  that  drooped  so  quickly  as  the  blushes 
rose,  and  then  lifted  themselves  again  so  timidly  to  him 
as  he  next  addressed  her,  were  surely  brimmed  with 
feeling  that  was  not  quite,  or  wholly  glad. 

And  now,  this  wistful,  silent,  musing,  far-off  look ! 

"  Good  morning,  Faithie !  " 

"  Good  morning."  And  the  glance  came  back, — the 
reverie  was  broken, — Faith's  spirit  informed  her  visible 
presence  again,  and  bade  him  true  and  gentle  welcome. 
"  You  haven't  your  morning  paper  yet  ?  I'll  bring  it. 
Thomas  left  it  in  the  library  I  think.  He  came  back 
from  the  early  train,  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Can't  you  women  tell  what's  the  matter  with  each 
other  ?  "  said  Mr.  Rushleigh  to  his  daughter,  who  entered 
by  the  other  door,  as  Faith  went  out  into  the  hall. 
"  What  ails  Faith,  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  consequence,  I  think.  She  is  tired  with 
all  that  has  been  going  on,  lately.  And  then  she's  the 
shyest  little  thing !  " 

"  It's  a  sort  of  shyness  that  don't  look  so  happy  as  it 
might,  it  seems  to  me.  And  what  has  become  of  Paul's 
diamonds,  I  wonder  ?  I  went  with  him  to  choose  some, 
last  week.  I  thought  I  should  see  them  next  upon  her 
finger." 

Margaret  opened  her  eyes  widely.     Of  course,  this 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  233 

was  the  first  she  had  heard  of  the  diamonds.  Where 
could  they  be,  indeed  ?  Was  anything  wrong  ?  They 
had  not  surely  quarrelled ! 

Faith  came  in  with  the  pape.r.  Thomas  brought  up 
breakfast.  And  presently,  these  three,  with  all  their 
thoughts  of  and  for  each  other,  that  reached  into  the 
long  years  to  come,  and  had  their  roots  in  all  that  had 
gone  by,  were  gathered  at  the  table,  seemingly  with  no 
further  anxiety  than  to  know  whether  one  or  another 
would  have  toast  or  muffins, — eggs  or  rasberries. 

Do  we  not — and  most  strangely  and  incomprehensibly 
— live  two  lives  ? 

"  I  must  write  to  my  mother,  to-day,"  said  Margaret, 
when  her  father  had  driven  away  to  the  mills,  and  they 
had  brought  in  a  few  fresh  flowers  from  the  terrace  for 
the  vases,  and  had  had  a  little  morning  music,  which 
Margaret  always  craved,  "  as  an  overture,"  she  said, 
"to  the  day."  ' 

"  I  must  write  to  my  mother ;  and  you,  I  suppose,  will 
be  busy  with  answering  Paul  ?  " 

A  little  consciousness  kept  her  from  looking  straight 
in  Faith's  face,  as  she  spoke.  Had  she  done  so,  she 
might  have  seen  that  a  paleness  came  over  it,  and  that 
the  lips  trembled. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer.  "  Perhaps  not,  to- 
day." 

"  Not  to-day  ?  Won't  he  be  watching  every  mail  ?  I 
don't  know  much  about  it,  to  be  sure;  but  I  fancied 
lovers  were  such  uneasy,  exacting  creatures !  " 

"  Paul  is  very  patient,"  said  Faith, — not  lightly,  as 
Margaret  had  spoken,  but  as  one  self-reproached,  al- 
most, for  abusing  patience, — "  and  they  go  to-morrow 
to  Lake  George.  He  won't  look  for  a  letter  until  he 
gets  to  Saratoga." 


234:  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

She  had  calculated  her  time  as  if  it  were  the  minutes 
of  a  reprieve. 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,"  said  Margaret.  "  How 
came  you  to  reckon  so  closely?  But,  for  me,  I  must 
write,  simply  because  I  have  just  heard  from  mamma. 
My  ideas  are  like  champagne — good  for  nothing  after 
the  first  effervescence.  And  the  cork  is  drawn,  always, 
the  minute  I  get  a  letter  myself !  If  I  wait  till  next  day, 
it  may  as  well  never  be  answered;  and,  very  likely, 
never  will !  " 

When  Paul  Rushleigh,  with  his  mother,  reached 
Saratoga,  he  found  two  letters  there,  for  him.  One 
kind,  simple,  but  reticent,  from  Faith — a  mere  answer 
to  that  which  she  could  answer,  of  his  own.  The  other 
was  from  his  father. 

"  There  seems,"  he  wrote  to  his  son,  toward  the  close, 
"  to  be  a  little  cloud  upon  Faith,  somehow.  Perhaps  it 
is  one  you  would  not  wish  away.  It  may  brighten  up 
and  roll  off,  at  your  return.  You,  possibly,  understand 
it  better  than  I.  Yet  I  feel,  in  my  strong  anxiety  for 
your  true  good,  impelled  to  warn  you  against  letting 
her  deceive  herself  and  you,  by  giving  you  less  than,  for 
her  own  happiness  and  yours,  she  ought  to  be  able  to 
give.  Do  not  marry  the  child,  Paul,  if  there  can  be  a 
doubt  of  her  entire  affection  for  you.  You  had  better  go 
through  life  alone,  than  with  a  wife's  half-love.  If 
you  have  reason  to  imagine  that  she  feels  bound  by  any- 
thing in  the  past  to  what  the  present  cannot  heartily 
ratify, — release  her.  I  counsel  you  to  this,  not  more  in 
justice  to  her,  than  for  the  saving  of  your  own  peace. 
She  writes  you  to-day.  It  may  be  that  the  antidote 
comes  with  the  hurt.  I  may  be  quite  Kiistaken.  But 
I  hurt  you,  my  son,  only  to  save  a  sorer  pain.  Faith  is 
true.  If  she  says  she  loves  you,  believe  her,  and  take 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  235 

her,  though  all  the  world  should  doubt.  But  if  she  is 
fearful, — if  she  hesitates, — be  fearful,  and  hesitate 
yourself,  lest  your  marriage  be  no  true  marriage  before 
heaven !  " 

Paul  Rushleigh  thanked  his  father,  briefly,  for  his 
admonition,  in  reply.  He  wrote,  also,  to  Faith — 
affectionately,  but  with  something,  at  last,  of  her  own 
reserve.  He  should  not  probably  write  again.  In  a 
week,  or  less,  he  would  be  home. 

And  behind,  and  beyond  all  this,  that  could  be  put  on 
paper,  was  the  hope  of  a  life, — the  sharp  doubt  of 
days, — waiting  the  final  word! 

In  a  week,  he  would  be  home!  A  week!  It  might 
bring  much ! 

Wednesday  had  come  round  again. 

Dinner  was  nearly  ended  at  Lakeside.  Cool  jellies, 
and  creams,  and  fruits,  were  on  the  table  for  dessert. 
Steaming  dishes  of  meats  and  vegetables  had  been  gladly 
sent  away,  but  slightly  partaken.  The  day  was  sultry. 
Even  now,  at  five  in  the  afternoon,  the  heat  was  hardly 
mitigated  from  that  of  midday. 

They  lingered  over  their  dessert,  and  spoke,  rather 
languidly,  of  what  might  be  done  after. 

"  For  me,"  said  Mr.  Rushleigh,  "  I  must  go  down  to 
the  mills  again,  before  night.  If  either,  or  both  of  you, 
like  a  drive,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  with  me." 

"  Those  hot  mills !  "  exclaimed  Margaret.  "  What  an 
excursion  to  propose !  " 

"  I  could  find  you  a  very  cool  corner,  even  in  those 
hot  mills,"  replied  her  father.  "  My  little  sanctum,  up 
stairs,  that  overlooks  the  river,  and  gets  its  breezes,  is 
the  freshest  place  I  have  been  in,  to-day.  Will  you 
go,  Faith  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  1  she'll  go !     I  see  it  in  her  eyes !  "  said 


236  FAITH   GARTXEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Margaret.  "  She  is  getting  to  be  as  much  absorbed  IB 
all  those  frantic  looms  and  things, — that  set  me  into  a 
fever  just  to  think  of,  whizzing  and  humming  all  day 
long  in  this  horrible  heat, — as  you  are !  I  believe  she 
expects  to  help  Paul  overseer  the  factory,  one  of  these 
days,  she  is  so  fierce  to  peer  into  and  understand  every- 
thing about  it.  Or  else,  she  means  mischief!  You 
had  a  funny  look  in  your  face,  Faithie,  the  other  day, 
when  you  stood  there  by  the  great  rope  that  hoists  the 
water-gate,  and  Mr.  Blasland  was  explaining  it  to  us !  " 

"  I  was  thinking,  I  remember,"  said  Faith,  "  what  a 
strange  thing  it  was  to  have  one's  hand  on  the  very 
motive  power  of  it  all.  To  see  those  great  looms,  and 
wheels,  and  cylinders,  and  spindles,  we  had  been  look- 
ing at,  and  hear  nothing  but  their  deafening  roar  all 
about  us,  and  to  think  that  even  I,  standing  there  with 
my  hand  upon  the  rope,  might  hush  it  all,  and  stop  the 
mainspring  of  it  in  a  minute !  " 

Ah,  Faithie!  Did  you  think,  as  you  said  this,  how 
your  little  hand  lay,  otherwise,  also,  on  the  mainspring 
and  motive  of  it  all  ?  One  of  the  three,  at  least,  thought 
of  it,  as  you  spoke. 

"  Well, — your  heart's  in  the  spindles,  I  see !  "  re- 
joined Margaret.  "  So,  don't  mind  me.  I  haven't  a  bit 
of  a  plan  for  your  entertainment,  here.  I  shouldn't, 
probably,  speak  to  you,  if  you  stayed.  It's  too  hot  for 
anything  but  a  book,  and  a  fan,  and  a  sofa  by  an  open 
window !  " 

Faith  laughed;  but,  before  she  could  reply,  a  chaise 
rolled  up  to  the  open  front  door,  and  the  step  and  voice 
of  Doctor  Wasgatt  were  heard,  as  he  inquired  for  Miss 
Gartney. 

Faith  left  her  seat,  with  a  word  of  excuse,  and  met 
him  in  the  hnll. 


FAITH   GARTNER'S   GIRLHOOD.  237 

"  I  had  a  patient  up  this  way,"  said  he,  "  and  came 
round  to  bring  you  a  message  from  Miss  Henderson. 
Nothing  to  be  frightened  at,  in  the  least ;  only  that  she 
isn't  quite  so  well  as  ordinary,  these  last  hot  days,  and 
thought  perhaps  you  might  as  lief  come  over.  She  said 
she  was  expecting  you  for  a  visit  there,  before  your 
folks  get  back.  Nb,  thank  you ;  "  as  Faith  motioned  to 
conduct  him  to  the  drawing-room, — "  can't  come  in. 
Sorry  I  couldn't  offer  to  take  you  down;  but  I've 
got  more  visits  to  make,  and  they  lie  round  the  other 
way." 

"Is  Aunt  Faith  ill?" 

"  Well, — no.  ISTot  so  but  that  she'll  be  spry  again  in 
a  day  or  two ;  especially  if  the  weather  changes.  That 
ankle  of  hers  is  troublesome,  and  she  had  something  of 
an  ill  turn  last  night,  and  called  me  over  this  morning. 
She  seems  to  have  taken  a  sort  of  fancy  that  she'd  like  to 
have  you  there." 

"  I'll  come." 

And  Faith  went  back,  quickly,  as  Doctor  Wasgatt 
departed,  to  make  his  errand  known,  and  to  ask  if  Mr. 
Rushleigh  would  mind  driving  her  round  to  Cross 
Corners,  after  going  to  his  mills. 

"Wait  till  to-morrow,  Faithie,"  said  Margaret,  in 
the  tone  of  one  whom  it  fatigues  to  think  of  an  exer- 
tion, even  for  another.  "  You'll  want  your  box  with 
you,  you  know;  and  there  isn't  time  for  anything  to- 
night." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  go  now,"  answered  Faith. 
"  Aunt  Henderson  never  complains  for  a  slight  ailment, 
and  she  might  be  ill  again,  to-night.  I  can  take  all  I 
shall  need  before  to-morrow  in  my  little  morocco  bag. 
I  won't  keep  you  waiting  a  minute,"  she  added,  turn- 
ing to  Mr.  Kushleigh. 


238  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  I  can  wait  twenty,  if  you  wish,"  he  answerfcJ, 
kindly. 

But  in  less  than  ten,  they  were  driving  down  toward 
the  river. 

Margaret  Rushleigh  had  betaken  herself  to  her  own 
cool  chamber,  where  the  delicate  straw  matting,  and 
pale  green,  leaf-patterned  chintz  of  sofa,  chairs,  and 
hangings,  gave  a  feeling  of  the  last  degree  of  summer 
lightness  and  daintiness,  and  the  gentle  air  breathed  in 
from  the  southwest,  sifted,  on  the  way,  of  its  sunny  heat, 
by  the  green  draperies  of  vine  and  branch  it  wandered 
through. 

Lying  there,  on  the  cool,  springy  cushions  of  her 
conch, — turning  the  fresh-cut  leaves  of  the  August 
"  Mishaumok," — she  forgot  the  wheels  and  the  spindles 
— the  hot  mills,  and  the  ceaseless  whirr. 

Just  at  that  moment  of  her  utter  comfort  and  content, 
a  young  factory  girl  dropped,  fainting,  in  the  dizzy 
heat,  before  her  loom. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


AT  THE  MILLS. 

"  For  all  day  the  wheels  are  droning,  turning, — 

Their  wind  comes  in  our  faces, — 
Till  our  hearts  turn, — our  head  with  pulses  burning, — 
And  the  walls  turn  in  their  places." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

FAITH  sat  silent  by  Mr.  Rushleigh's  side,  drinking  in, 
also,  with  a  cool  content,  the  river  air  that  blew  upon 
their  faces  as  they  drove  along. 

"  Faithie !  "  said  Paul's  father,  a  little  suddenly,  at 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  £89 

last, — "  do  you  know  how  true  a  thing  you  said  a  little 
while  ago  ?  " 

"  How,  sir  ? "  asked  Faith,  not  perceiving  what  he 
meant. 

"  When  you  spoke  of  having  your  hand  on  the  main- 
spring of  all  this  ?  " 

And  he  raised  his  right  arm,  motioning  with  the 
slender  whip  he  held,  along  the  line  of  factory  buildings 
that  lay  before  them. 

A  deep,  blazing  blush  burned,  at  his  word,  over 
Faith's  cheek  and  brow.  She  sat  and  suffered  it  under 
his  eye, — uttering  not  a  syllable. 

u  I  knew  you  did  not  know.  You  did  not  think  of  it 
so.  Yet  it  is  true,  none  the  less. — Faith!  Are  you 
happy  ?  Are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

Still  a  silence,  and  tears  gathering  in  the  eyes. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  distress  you,  my  dear.  It  is  only 
a  little  word  I  should  like  to  hear  you  speak.  I  must,  so 
far  as  I  can,  see  that  my  children  are  happy,  Faith." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Faith,  tremulously,  struggling  to 
speech, — "  one  cannot  expect  to  be  utterly  happy  in 
this  world." 

"  One  does  expect  it,  forgetting  all  else,  at  the  moment 
when  is  given  what  seems  to  one  life's  first,  great  good, 
— the  earthly  good  that  comes  but  once.  I  remember 
my  own  youth,  Faithie.  Pure,  present  content  is  sel- 
dom overwise." 

"  Only,"  said  Faith,  still  tremblingly,  "  that  the  re- 
sponsibility comes  with  the  good.  That  feeling  of  hav- 
ing one's  hand  upon  the  mainspring  is  a  fearful  one." 

"  I  am  not  given,"  said  Mr.  Kushleigh,  "  to  quoting 
Bible  at  all  times ;  but  you  make  a  line  of  it  come  up  to 
me.  '  There  is  no  fear  in  love.  Perfect  love  casteth 
out  fear.'  " 


240  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  Be  sure  of  yourself,  dear  child.  Be  sure  you  are 
content  and  happy ;  and  tell  me  so,  if  you  can ;  or,  tell 
me  otherwise,  if  you  must,  without  a  reserve  or  mis- 
giving," he  said  again,  as  they  drove  down  the  mill- 
entrance;  and  their  conversation,  for  the  time,  came, 
necessarily,  to  an  end. 

Coming  into  the  mill-yard,  they  were  aware  of  a  little 
commotion  about  one  of  the  side  doors. 

The  mill-girl  who  had  fainted  sat  here,  surrounded  by 
two  or  three  of  her  companions,  slowly  recovering. 

"  It  is  Mary  Grover,  sir,  from  up  at  the  Peak,"  said 
one  of  them,  in  reply  to  Mr.  Rushleigh's  question. 
"  She  hasn't  been  well  for  some  days,  but  she's  kept  on 
at  her  work,  and  the  heat,  to-day,  was  too  much  for  her. 
She'd  ought  to  be  got  home,  if  there  was  any  way.  She 
can't  ever  walk." 

"  I'll  take  her,  myself,"  said  the  mill-owner, 
promptly.  "  Keep  her  quiet  here  a  minute  or  two,  while 
I  go  in  and  speak  to  Blasland." 

But  first  he  turned  to  Faith  again.  "  What  shall 
I  do  with  you,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Dear  Mr.  Rushleigh,"  said  she,  with  all  her  ejati- 
tude  for  his  just  spoken  kindness  to  herself  and  her  ap- 
preciation of  his  ready  sympathy  for  the  poor  work- 
girl,  in  her  voice, — "  don't  think  of  me !  It's  lovely  out 
there  over  the  foot-bridge,  and  in  the  fields;  and  that 
way,  the  distance  is  nearly  nothing  to  Aunt  Faith's.  I 
should  like  the  walk, — really." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Rushleigh.  "  I  believe  you 
would.  Then  I'll  take  Mary  Grover  up  to  the  Peak." 

And  he  shook  her  hand,  and  left  her  standing  there, 
and  went  up  into  the  mill. 

Two  of  the  girls  who  had  come  out  with  Mary  Grover, 
followed  him  and  returned  to  their  work.  One,  sitting 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 


241 


with  her  in  the  door-way,  on  one  of  the  upper  steps,  and 
supporting  her  yet  dizzy  head  upon  her  shoulder,  re- 
mained. 

Faith  asked  if  she  could  do  anything,  and  was  an- 
swered, no,  with  thanks. 

She  turned  away,  then,  and  walked  over  the  plank- 
ing ahove  the  race-way,  toward  the  river,  where  a  pretty 
little  foot-hridge  crossed  it  here,  from  the  end  of  the 
mill-building. 

Against  this  end,  projected,  on  this  side,  a  square, 
tower-like  appendage  to  the  main  structure,  around 
which  one  must  pass  to  reach  the  foot-bridge.  A  door  at 
the  base  opened  upon  a  staircase  leading  up.  This  was 
the  entrance  to  Mr.  Rushleigh's  "  sanctum,"  above, 
which  communicated,  also,  with  the  second  story  of  the 
mill. 

Here  Faith  paused.  She  caught,  from  around  the 
corner,  a  sound  of  the  angry  voices  of  men. 

"  I  tell  you,  I'll  stay  here  till  I  see  the  boss !  " 

"  I  tell  you,  the  boss  won't  see  you.  He's  done  with 
you." 

"  Let  him  be  done  with  me,  then ;  and  not  go  spoiling 
my  chance  with  other  people !  I'll  see  it  out  with  him, 
somehow,  yet." 

"  Better  not  threaten.  He  won't  go  out  of  his  way 
to  meddle  with  you ;  only  it's  no  use  your  sending  any- 
body here  after  a  character.  He's  one  of  the  sort  that 
speaks  the  truth  and  shames  the  devil." 

"  I'll  let  him  know  he  ain't  boss  of  the  whole  country 
round!  D— d  if  I  don't !  " 

Faith  turned  away  from  hearing  more  of  this,  and 
from  facing  the  speakers ;  and  took  refuge  up  the  open 
staircase. 

Above, — in  the  quiet  little  counting-room,  shut  off  by 
16 


242  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

double  doors  at  the  right  from  the  great  loom-chamber 
of  the  mill,  and  opening  at  the  front  by  a  wide  window 
upon  the  river  that  ran  tumbling  and  flashing  below, 
spanned  by  the  graceful  little  bridge  that  reached  the 
green  slope  of  the  field  beyond, — it  was  so  cool  and 
pleasant, — so  still  with  continuous  and  softened  sound, 
— that  Faith  sat  down  upon  the  comfortable  sofa  there, 
to  rest,  to  think,  to  be  alone,  a  little. 

She  had  Paul's  letter  in  her  pocket;  she  had  his 
father's  words  fresh  upon  ear  and  heart.  A  strange 
peace  came  over  her,  as  she  placed  herself  here;  as  if, 
somehow,  a  way  was  soon  to  be  opened  and  made  clear 
to  her.  As  if  she  should  come  to  know  herself,  and  to 
be  brave  to  act  as  God  should  show  her  how. 

She  heard,  presently,  Mr.  Rushleigh's  voice  in  the 
mill-yard,  and  then  the  staircase  door  closed  and  locked 
below.  Thinking  that  he  should  be  here  no  more,  to- 
night, he  had  shut  and  fastened  it. 

It  was  no  matter.  She  would  go  through  the  mill, 
by-and-by,  and  look  at  the  looms ;  and  so  out,  and  over 
the  river,  then,  to  Aunt  Faith's. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

LOCKED   IN. 

"  How  idle  ft  is  to  call  certain  things  godsends  I  aa  if  there 
were  anything  else  in  the  world."  HARE. 

IT  is  accounted  a  part  of  the  machinery  of  invention 
when,  in  a  story,  several  coincident  circumstances,  that 
apart,  would  have  had  no  noticeable  result,  bear  down 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  243 

together,  with  a  nice  and  sure  calculation  upon  some 
catastrophe  or  denouement  that  develops  itself  there- 
from. 

Does  not  God  work  out  our  human  fate  by  the  bee- 
lines  of  His  Providence  ?  From  points  afar  and  seem- 
ingly separate,  the  threads  of  agency  begin.  And, 
straight  to  one  fore-ordered  purpose,  move  on,  undevia- 
tingly,  as  we  trace  them,  to  the  converging  point,  where 
the  divine  meaning  and  plan  shall  be  consummated. 

God, — let  it  be  said  reverently, — is  the  Great  Novel- 
ist, and  Architect  of  circumstance.  When  we  see  the 
lives  of  men,  that  he  writes  out  daily,  in  actual  fact, 
about  us,  can  we  think,  for  an  instant,  that  our  poor 
imagining  and  contriving  can  go  beyond  His  infinite 
possibilities, — His  hourly  accomplishment  ?  Oan 
transcend,  by  any  ingenuity,  His  groupings  and  com- 
binings,  when  a  thing  is  willed  to  be  ? 

Last  night,  a  man, — an  employe  in  Mr.  Rushleigh's 
factory, — had  been  kept  awake  by  one  of  his  children, 
taken  suddenly  ill.  A  slight  matter, — but  it  has  to  do 
with  our  story. 

Last  night,  also,  Faith, — Paul's  second  letter  just  re- 
ceived,— had  lain  sleepless  for  hours,  fighting  the  old 
battle  over,  darkly,  of  doubt,  pity,  half-love,  and  in- 
decision. She  had  felt,  or  had  thought  she  felt, — thus, 
or  so, — in  the  days  that  were  past.  Why  could  she  not 
be  sure  of  her  feeling  now  ? 

The  new  wine  in  the  old  bottles, — the  new  cloth  in  the 
old  garment, — these,  in  Faith's  life,  were  at  variance. 
What  satisfied  once,  satisfied  no  longer.  Was  she  to 
blame?  What  ought  she  to  do  ?  There  was  a  seething — 
a  rending.  Poor  heart,  that  was  likely  to  be  burst  and 
torn, — wonderingly,  helplessly, — in  the  half-compre- 
hended struggle  I 


244  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

So  it  happened,  that,  tired  with  all  this,  sore  with 
its  daily  pressure  and  recurrence,  this  moment  of  strange 
peace  came  over  her,  and  soothed  her  into  rest. 

She  laid  herself  back,  there,  on  the  broad,  soft,  old- 
fashioned  sofa,  and  with  the  river  breeze  upon  her  brow, 
and  the  song  of  its  waters  in  her  ears,  and  the  deadened 
hum  of  the  factory  rumbling  on, — she  fell  asleep. 

A  heavy  sleep  it  was ;  as  if  some  waiting  angel  bore 
her  soul  away,  away, — far  off  from  all  earthly  sound 
and  association, — and  left  her  body  there  to  utter  rest. 

And  so, — strangely,  perhaps,  but  it  was  so, — the  fac- 
tory bell,  at  the  far  end  of  the  long  building,  sent  its 
clang  out  on  the  air  that  seized  and  bore  it  from  the 
river,  and  the  busy  operatives  hurried  out  from  their 
place  of  toil,  and  streamed  in  long  lines  homeward,  and 
the  rumbling  hushed,  and  left  only  the  noise  of  falling 
and  rushing  water,  in  her  ears, — and  still  Faith  slum- 
bered on. 

How  long  it  had  been,  she  could  not  tell ;  she  knew  not 
whether  it  were  evening,  or  midnight,  or  near  the  morn- 
in ;  but  she  felt  cold  and  cramped ;  everything  save  the 
busy  river  was  still,  and  the  daylight  was  all  gone,  and 
stars  out  bright  in  the  deep,  moonless  sky,  when  she 
awoke. 

Awoke,  bewilderedly,  and  came  slowly  to  the  com- 
prehension that  she  was  here  alone.  That  it  was  night, 
— that  nobody  could  know  it, — that  she  was  locked  up 
here,  in  the  great  dreary  mill. 

She  raised  herself  upon  the  sofa,  and  sat  in  a  terrified 
amaze.  She  took  out  her  watch,  and  tried  to  see,  by 
the  starlight,  the  time.  The  slender  black  hands  upon 
its  golden  face  were  invisible.  It  ticked, — it  was  going. 
She  knew,  by  that,  it  could  not  be  far  beyond  midnight, 
at  the  most.  She  was  chilly,  in  her  white  dress,  from 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  £45 

the  night  air.  She  went  to  the  open  window,  and  looked 
out  from  it,  before  she  drew  it  down.  Away,  over  the 
fields,  and  up  and  down  the  river,  all  was  dark,  soli- 
tary. 

Nobody  knew  it,— she  was  here  alone. 

She  shut  the  window,  softly,  afraid  of  the  sounds  her- 
self might  make.  She  opened  the  double  doors  from 
the  counting-room,  and  stood  on  the  outer  threshold,  and 
looked  into  the  mill.  The  heavy  looms  were  still.  They 
stood  like  great,  dead  creatures,  smitten  in  the  midst 
of  busy  motion.  There  was  an  awfulness  in  being  here, 
the  only  breathing,  moving  thing, — in  darkness, — where 
so  lately  had  been  the  deafening  hum  of  rolling  wheels, 
and  clanking  shafts,  and  flying  shuttles,  and  busy,  mov- 
ing human  figures.  It  was  as  if  the  world  itself  were 
stopped,  and  she  forgotten  on  its  mighty,  silent  course. 

Should  she  find  her  way  to  the  great  bell,  ring  it, 
and  make  an  alarm  ?  She  thought  of  this ;  and  then  she 
reasoned  with  herself  that  she  was  hardly  so  badly  off, 
as  to  justify  her,  quite,  in  doing  that.  It  would  rouse 
the  village,  it  would  bring  Mr.  Rushleigh  down,  per- 
haps,— it  would  cause  a  terrible  alarm.  And  all  that 
she  might  be  spared  a  few  hours  longer  of  loneliness  and 
discomfort.  She  was  safe.  It  would  soon  be  morning. 

The  mill  would  be  opened  early.  She  would  go  back 
to  the  sofa,  and  try  to  sleep  again.  Nobody  could  be 
anxious  about  her.  The  Rushleighs  supposed  her  to  be 
at  Cross  Corners.  Her  aunt  would  think  he.r  detained 
at  Lakeside.  It  was  really  no  great  matter.  She  would 
be  brave,  and  quiet. 

So  she  shut  the  double  doors  again,  and  found  a  coat 
of  Paul's,  or  Mr.  Rushleigh's,  in  the  closet  of  the  count- 
ing-room, and  lay  down  upon,  the  sofa,  covering  her- 
self with  that. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

For  an  hour  or  more,  her  heart  throbbed,  her  nerves 
were  excited,  she  could  not  sleep.  But  at  last  she  grew 
calmer,  her  thought  wandered  from  her  actual  situation, 
— became  indistinct, — and  slumber  held  her  again, 
dreamily. 

There  was  another  sleeper,  also,  in  the  mill  whom 
Faith  knew  nothing  of. 

Michael  Garvin,  the  night-watchman, — the  same 
whose  child  had  been  ill  the  night  before, — when  Faith 
came  out  into  the  loom-chamber,  had  left  it  but  a  few 
minutes,  going  his  silent  round  within  the  building,  and 
recording  his  faithfulness  by  the  half-hour  pin  upon  the 
watch-clock.  Six  times  he  had  done  this,  already.  It 
was  half -past  ten. 

He  had  gone  up,  now,  by  the  stairs  from  the  weaving- 
room,  into  the  third  story.  These  stairs  ascended  at 
the  front,  from  within  the  chamber. 

Michael  Garvin  went  on  nearly  to  the  end  of  the 
room  above, — stopped,  and  looked  out  at  a  window.  All 
still,  all  safe  apparently. 

He  was  very  tired.  .What  harm  in  lying  down  some- 
where in  a  corner,  for  five  minutes  ?  He  need  not  shut 
his  eyes.  He  rolled  his  coat  up  for  a  pillow,  and  threw 
it  against  the  wall  beneath  the  window.  The  next  in- 
stant he  had  stretched  his  stalwart  limbs  along  the  floor, 
and  before  ten  minutes  of  his  seventh  half  hour  were 
spent, — long  before  Faith,  who  thought  herself  all  alone 
in  the  great  building,  had  lost  consciousness  of  her 
strange  position, — he  was  fast  asleep. 

Fast  asleep,  here,  in  the  third  story ! 

So,  since  the  days  of  the  disciples,  men  have  grown 
heavy  and  forgotten  their  trust.  So  they  have  slumbered 
upon  decks,  at  sea.  So  sentinels  have  lain  down  at 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

picket-posts,  though  they  knew  the  purchase  of  that  hour 
of  rest  might  be  the  leaden  death ! 

Faith  Gartney  dreamed,  uneasily. 

She  thought  herself  wandering,  at  night,  through  the 
deserted  streets  of  a  great  city.  She  seemed  to  have 
come  from  somewhere  afar  off,  and  to  have  no  place 
to  go  to. 

Up  and  down,  through  avenues  sometimes  half  fa- 
miliar, sometimes  wholly  unknown,  she  went  wearily, 
without  aim,  or  end,  or  hope.  "  Tired !  tired !  tired !  " 
she  seemed  to  say  to  herself.  "  Nowhere  to  rest, — no- 
body to  take  care  of  me !  " 

Then, — city,  streets,  and  houses  disappeared;  the 
scenery  of  her  dream  rolled  away,  and  opened  out,  and 
she  was  standing  on  a  high,  bare  cliff,  away  up  in  wintry 
air;  threatening  rocky  avalanches  overhanging  her, — 
chill  winds  piercing  her, — and  no  pathway  visible  down- 
ward. Still  crying  out  in  loneliness  and  fear.  Still 
with  none  to  comfort  or  to  help. 

Standing  on  the  sheer  edge  of  the  precipice, — behind 
her,  suddenly,  a  crater  opened.  A  hissing  breath  came 
up,  and  the  chill  air  quivered  and  scorched  about  her. 
Her  feet  were  upon  a  volcano !  A  lake  of  boiling,  mol- 
ten stone  heaved, — huge,  brazen,  bubbling, — spreading 
wider  and  wider,  like  a  great  earth-ulcer,  eating  in  its 
own  brink  continually.  Up  in  the  air  over  her,  reared  a 
vast,  sulphurous  canopy  of  smoke.  The  narrowing  ridge 
beneath  her  feet  burned, — trembled.  She  hovered  be- 
tween two  destructions. 

Instantly, — in  that  throbbing,  agonizing  moment  of 
her  dream,  just  after  which  one  wakes, — she  felt  a 
presence, — she  heard  a  call, — she  thought  two  arms 
were  stretched  out  toward  her, — there  seemed  a  safety 
and  a  rest  near  by ;  she  was  borne  by  an  unseen  impulse. 


248  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

along  the  dizzy  ridge  that  her  feet  scarce  touched,  to- 
ward it ;  she  was  taken, — folded,  held ;  smoke,  fire,  the 
threatening  danger  of  the  cliff,  were  nothing,  suddenly, 
anj  more.  Whether  they  menaced  still,  she  thought 
not;  a  voice  she  knew  and  trusted  was  in  her  ear;  a 
grasp  of  loving  strength  sustained  her ;  she  was  utterly 
secure. 

So  vividly  she  felt  the  presence, — so  warm  and  sure 
seemed  that  love  and  strength  about  her, — that  waking 
out  of  such  pause  of  peace,  before  her  senses  recognized 
anything  that  was  real  without,  she  stretched  her  hands, 
as  if  to  find  it  at  her  side,  and  her  lips  breathed  a  name, 
— the  name  of  Roger  Armstrong. 

Then  she  started  to  her  feet.  The  kind,  protecting 
presence  faded  back  into  her  dream. 

The  horrible  smoke,  the  scorching  smell,  were  true. 

A  glare  smote  sky  and  trees  and  water,  as  she  saw 
them  from  the  window. 

There  was  fire  near  her ! 

Could  it  be  among  the  buildings  of  the  mill  ? 

The  long,  main  structure  ran  several  feet  beyond 
the  square  projection  within  which  she  stood.  Upon 
the  other  side,  close  to  the  front,  quite  away,  of  course, 
from  all  observation  hence,  joined,  at  right  angles, 
another  building,  communicating  and  forming  one  with 
the  first.  Here  were  the  carding  rooms.  Then  beyond, 
detached,  were  houses  for  storage  and  other  purposes 
connected  with  the  business. 

Was  it  from  one  of  these  the  glare  and  smoke  and 
suffocating  burning  smell  were  pouring? 

Or,  lay  the  danger  nearer, — within  these  close,  con- 
tiguous walls? 

Vainly  she  threw  up  the  one  window,  and  leaned 
forth. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  £49 

She  could  not  tell. 

At  this  moment,  Roger  Armstrong,  also,  woke  from 
out  a  dream. 

In  this  strange,  second  life  of  ours,  that  replaces  the 
life  of  day,  do  we  not  meet  interiorly  ?  Do  not  thoughts 
and  knowledges  cross,  from  spirit  to  spirit,  over  the 
abyss,  that  lip,  and  eye,  and  ear,  in  waking  moments, 
neither  send  nor  receive?  That  even  mind  itself  is 
scarcely  conscious  of?  Is  not  the  great  deep  of  being, 
wherein  we  rest,  electric  with  a  sympathetic  life, — 
and  do  not  warnings  and  promises  and  cheer  pulse  in 
upon  us,  mysteriously,  in  these  passive  hours  of  the  flesh, 
when  soul  only  is  awake  and  keen  ? 

Do  not  two  thought,  two  consciousnesses,  call  and 
answer  to  each  other,  mutely,  in  twin  dreams  of 
night  ? 

Roger  Armstrong  came  in,  late,  that  evening,  from  a: 
visit  to  a  distant  sick  parishioner.  Then  he  sat,  writ- 
ing, for  an  hour  or  two  longer. 

By-and-by,  he  threw  down  his  pen, — pushed  back  his 
armchair  before  his  window, — stretched  his  feet, 
wearily,  into  the  deep,  old-fashioned  window-seat, — 
leaned  his  head  back,  and  let  the  cool  breeze  stir  his 
hair. 

So  it  soothed  him  into  sleep. 

He  dreamed  of  Faith.  He  dreamed  he  saw  her 
stand,  afar  off,  in  some  solitary  place,  and  beckon,  as 
it  were,  visibly,  from  a  wide,  invisible  distance.  He 
dreamed  he  struggled  to  obey  her  summons.  He  bat- 
tled with  the  strange  inertia  of  sleep.  He  strove, — 
he  gasped, — he  broke  the  spell  and  hastened  on.  He 
plunged, — he  climbed, — he  stood  in  a  great  din  that 
bewildered  and  threatened  j  there  was  a  lurid  light  that 


250  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

glowed  intense  about  him  as  he  went;  in  the  midst  of 
all, — beyond, — she  beckoned  still. 

"Faith !  Faith !    What  danger  is  about  you,  child  ?  " 

These  words  broke  forth  from  him  aloud,  as  he  started 
to  his  feet,  and  stretched  his  hands,  impulsively,  out  be- 
fore him,  toward  the  open  window. 

His  eyes  flashed  wide  upon  that  crimson  glare  that 
flooded  sky  and  field  and  river. 

There  was  fire  at  the  mills ! 

Not  a  sound,  yet,  from  the  sleeping  village. 

The  heavy,  close-fitting  double  doors  between  the 
counting-room  and  the  great  mill-chamber  were  shut. 
Only  by  opening  these  and  venturing  forth,  could  Faith 
gain  certain  knowledge  of  her  situation. 

Once  more  she  pulled  them  open  and  passed  through. 

A  blinding  smoke  rushed  thick  about  her,  and  made 
her  gasp  for  breath.  Up  through  the  belt-holes  in  the 
floor,  toward  the  farther  end  of  the  long  room,  sprang 
little  tongues  of  flame  that  leaped  higher  and  higher, 
even  while  she  strove  for  sight,  that  single,  horrified, 
suffocating  instant,  and  gleamed,  mockingly,  upon  the 
burnished  shafts  of  silent  looms. 

In  at  the  windows  on  the  left,  came  the  vengeful  shine 
of  those  other  windows,  at  right  angles,  in  the  adjacent 
building.  The  carding-rooms,  and  the  whole  front  of 
the  mill,  below,  were  all  in  flames ! 

In  frantic  affright,  in  chocking  agony,  Faith  dashed 
herself  back  through  the  heavy  doors,  that  swung  on 
springs,  and  closed  tightly  once  more  after  her. 

Here,  at  the  open  window,  she  took  breath.  Must 
she  wait  here,  helpless,  for  the  fiery  death  ? 

Down  below  her,   the  narrow  brink, — the   rushing 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  251 

river.  No  foothold, — no  chance  for  a  descent.  Behind 
her,  only  those  two  doors,  barring  out  flame  and  smoke ! 

And  the  little  foot-bridge,  lying  in  the  light  across 
the  water,  and  the  green  fields  stretching  away,  cool  and 
safe  beyond.  A  little  farther — her  home ! 

"Fire!" 

She  cried  the  fearful  word  out  upon  the  night,  use- 
lessly. There  was  no  one  near.  The  village  slumbered 
on,  away  there  to  the  left.  The  strong,  deep  shout  of 
a  man  might  reach  it,  but  no  tone  of  hers.  There  were 
no  completed  or  occupied  dwelling-houses,  as  yet,  about 
the  new  mills.  Mr.  Rushleigh  was  putting  up  some 
blocks;  but,  for  the  present,  there  was  nothing  nearer 
than  the  village  proper  of  Kinnicutt  on  the  one  hand, 
and  as  far,  or  farther,  on  the  other  the  houses  at  Lake- 
side. 

The  flames  themselves,  alone,  could  signal  her  danger, 
and  summon  help.  How  long  would  it  be  first  ? 

Thoughts  of  father,  mother,  and  little  brother, — 
thoughts  of  the  kind  friends  at  Lakeside,  parted  from 
but  a  few  hours  before, — thoughts  of  the  young  lover 
to  whom  the  answer  he  waited  for  should  be  given,  per- 
haps, so  awfully; — through  all,  lighting,  as  it  were, 
suddenly  and  searchingly,  the  deep  places  of  her  own 
soul,  the  thought, — the  feeling,  rather,  of  that  presence 
in  her  dream;  of  him  who  had  led  her,  taught  her, 
lifted  her  so,  to  high  things; — brought  her  nearer,  by 
his  ministry,  to  God !  Of  all  human  influence  or  Icve, 
his  was  nearest  and  strongest,  spiritually,  to  her,  now ! 

All  at  once,  across  these  surging,  crowding,  agonizing 
feelings,  rushed  an  inspiration  for  the  present  moment. 

The  water-gate !    The  force-pump ! 

The  apparatus  for  working  these  lay  at  this  end  of 
the  building.  She  had  been  shown  the  method  of  its 


252  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

operation;  they  had  explained  to  her  its  purpose.  It 
was  perfectly  simple.  Only  the  drawing  of  a  rope  over 
a  pulley, — the  turning  of  a  faucet.  She  could  do  it,  if 
she  could  only  reach  the  spot. 

Instantly  and  strangely,  the  cloud  of  terror  seemed  to 
roll  away.  Her  faculties  cleared.  Her  mind  was  all 
alert  and  quickened.  She  thought  of  things  she  had 
heard  of  years  before,  and  long  forgotten.  That  a  wet 
cloth  about  the  face  would  defend  from  smoke.  That 
down  low,  close  to  the  floor,  was  always  a  current  of 
fresher  air. 

She  turned  a  faucet  that  supplied  a  basin  in  the  count- 
ing-room, held  her  handkerchief  to  it,  and  saturated  it 
with  water.  Then  she  tied  it  across  her  forehead,  let- 
ting it  hang  before  her  face  like  a  veil.  She  caught  a 
fold  of  it  between  her  teeth. 

And  so,  opening  the  doors  between  whose  cracks  the 
pent-up  smoke  was  curling,  she  passed  through,  crouch- 
ing down,  and  crawled  along  the  end  of  the  chamber,  to- 
ward the  great  rope  in  the  opposite  corner. 

The  fire  was  creeping  thitherward,  also,  to  meet  her. 
Along  from  the  front,  down  the  chamber  on  the  opposite 
side,  the  quick  flames  sprang  and  flashed,  momently 
higher,  catching  already,  here  and  there,  from  point 
to  point,  where  an  oiled  belt  or  an  unfinished  web  of 
cloth  attracted  their  hungry  tongues. 

As  yet,  they  were  like  separate  skirmishers,  sent  out 
in  advance;  their  mighty  force  not  yet  gathered  and 
rolled  together  in  such  terrible  sheet  and  volume  as 
raged  beneath. 

She  reached  the  corner  where  hung  the  rope. 

Close  by,  was  the  faucet  in  the  main  pipe  fed  by  the 
force-pump.  Underneath  it,  lay  a  coil  of  hose,  at- 
tached and  ready. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  £53 

She  turned  the  faucet,  and  laid  hold  of  the  long 
rope.  A  few  pulls,  and  she  heard  the  dashing  of  the 
water  far  below.  The  wheel  was  turning. 

The  pipes  filled.  She  lifted  the  end  of  the  coiled 
hose,  and  directed  it  toward  the  forward  part  of  the 
chamber,  where  flames  were  wreathing,  climbing,  flash- 
ing. An  impetuous  column  of  water  rushed,  eager, 
hissing,  upon  blazing  wood  and  heated  iron. 

Still  keeping  the  hose  in  her  grasp,  she  crawled  back 
again,  half  stifled,  yet  a  new  hope  of  life  aroused 
within  her,  to  the  double  doors.  Before  these,  with  the 
little  counting-room  behind  her,  as  her  last  refuge,  she 
took  her  stand. 

How  long  could  she  fight  off  death  ?    Till  help  came  ? 

All  this  had  been  done  and  thought  quickly.  There 
had  been  less  time  than  she  would  have  believed,  since 
she  first  woke  to  the  knowledge  of  this,  her  horrible  peril. 

The  flames  were  already  repulsed.  The  mill  was 
being  flooded.  Down  the  belt-holes  the  water  poured 
upon  the  fiercer  blaze  below,  that  swept  across  the  for- 
ward and  central  part  of  the  great  spinning-room,  from 
side  to  side. 

At  this  moment,  a  cry,  close  at  hand. 

"Fire!" 

A  man  was  swaying  by  a  rope,  down  from  a  third- 
story  window. 

"  Fire !  "  came  again,  instantly,  from  without,  upon 
another  side. 

It  was  a  voice  hoarse,  excited,  strained.  A  torn 
Faith  had  never  hear,d  before ;  yet  she  knew,  by  a  mys- 
terious intuition,  from  whom  it  came.  She  dropped  the 
hose,  still  pouring  out  its  torrent,  to  the  floor,  and  sprang 
back,  through  the  doors,  to  the  counting-room  window. 
The  voice  came  from  the  river-side. 


254  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

A  man  was  dashing  down  the  green  slope,  upon  th« 
foot-bridge. 

Faith  stretched  her  arms  out,  as  a  child  might, 
wakened  in  pain  and  terror.  A  cry,  in  which  were 
uttered  the  fear,  the  horror,  that  were  now  first  fully 
felt,  as  a  possible  safety  appeared,  and  the  joy,  that  it- 
self came  like  a  sudden  pang,  escaped  her,  piercingly, 
thrillingly. 

Roger  Armstrong  looked  upward  as  he  sprang  upon 
the  bridge. 

He  caught  the  cry.  He  saw  Faith  stand  there,  in  her 
white  dress,  that  had  been  wet  and  blackened  in  her 
battling  with  the  fire. 

A  great  soul-glance  of  courage  and  resolve  flashed 
from  his  eyes.  He  reached  his  uplifted  arms  toward 
her,  answering  hers.  He  uttered  not  a  word. 

"  Round !  round !  "  cried  Faith.  "  The  door  upon 
the  other  side !  " 

Roger  Armstrong,  leaping  to  the  spot,  and  Michael 
Garvin,  escaped  by  the  long  rope  that  hung  vibrating 
from  his  grasp,  down  the  brick  wall  of  the  building,  met 
at  the  staircase  door. 

"  Help  me  drive  that  in !  "  cried  the  minister. 

And  the  two  men  threw  their  stalwart  shoulders 
against  the  barrier,  forcing  lock  and  hinges. 

Up  the  stairs  rushed  Roger  Armstrong. 

Answering  the  crash  of  the  falling  door,  came  an- 
other and  more  fearful  crash  within. 

Gnawed  by  the  fire,  the  timbers  and  supports  beneath 
the  forward  portion  of  the  second  floor  had  given  way, 
and  the  heavy  looms  that  stood  there  had  gone  plunging 
down.  A  horrible  volume  of  smoke  and  steam  poured 
upward,  with  the  flames,  from  out  the  chasm,  and 
rushed,  resistlessly,  everywhere. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Roger  Armstrong  dashed  into  the  little  counting- 
room.  Faith  lay  there,  on  the  floor.  At  that  fearful 
crash,  that  rush  of  suffocating  smoke,  she  had  fallen, 
senseless.  He  seized  her,  frantically,  in  his  arms  to 
bear  her  down. 

"  Faith !  Faith !  "  he  cried,  when  she  neither  spoke 
nor  moved.  "  My  darling !  Are  you  hurt  ?  Are  you 
killed  ?  Oh,  my  God  !  must  there  be  another  ?  " 

Faith  did  not  hear  these  words,  uttered  with  all  the 
passionate  agony  of  a  man  who  would  hold  the  woman 
he  loves  to  his  heart,  and  defy  for  her  even  death. 

She  came  to  herself  in  the  open  air.  She  felt  her- 
self in  his  arms.  She  only  heard  him  say,  tenderly 
and  anxiously,  in  something  of  his  old  tone,  as  her 
consciousness  returned,  and  he  saw  it, — 

"My  dear  child!" 

But  she  knew  then  all  that  had  been  a  mystery  to 
her  in  herself  before. 

She  knew  that  she  loved  Roger  Armstrong.  That 
it  was  not  a  love  of  gratitude  and  reverence,  only ;  but 
that  her  very  soul  was  rendered  up  to  him,  involun- 
tarily, as  a  woman  renders  herself  but  once.  That 
she  would  rather  have  died  there,  in  that  flame  and 
smoke,  held  in  his  arms, — gathered  to  his  heart, — than 
have  lived  whatever  life  of  ease  and  pleasantness, — 
aye,  even  of  use, — with  any  other !  She  knew  that  her 
thought,  in  those  terrible  moments  before  he  came,  had 
been, — not  father's  or  mother's,  only;  not  her  young 
lover,  Paul's;  but,  deepest  and  moitly,  hisl 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 


,  CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOME. 

The  joy  that  knows  there  is  a  joy — 
That  scents  its  breath,  and  cries,  'tis  then  I 

And,  patient  in  its  pure  repose, 
Receiveth  so  the  holier  share. 

FAITH'S  thought  and  courage  saved  the  mill  fron 
titter  destruction. 

For  one  fearful  moment,  when  that  forward  portion 
of  the  loom-floor  fell  through,  and  flame,  and  vapor, 
and  smoke  rioted  together  in  a  wild  alliance  of  fury, 
all  seemed  lost.  But  the  great  water-"wheel  was  plying 
on;  the  river  fought  the  fire;  the  rushing,  exhaustless 
streams  were  pouring  out  and  down,  everywhere;  and 
the  crowd  that  in  a  few  moments  after  the  first  alarm, 
and  Faith's  rescue,  gathered  at  the  spot,  found  its 
work  half  done. 

A  little  later,  there  were  only  sullen  smoke,  defeated, 
smouldering  fires,  blackened  timbers,  the  burned  card- 
ing-rooms,  and  the  ruin  at  the  front,  to  tell  the  awful 
story  of  the  night. 

Mr.  Armstrong  had  carried  Faith  into  one  of  the 
unfinished  factory  houses.  Here  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  her  for  a  few  moments,  after  making  such  a  rude 
couch  for  her  as  was  possible,  with  a  pile  of  clean  sfrav- 
ings,  and  his  own  coat,  which  he  insisted,  against  all 
her  remonstrances,  upon  spreading  above  them. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  The  first  horse  and  vehicle  which  conies,  Miss 
Faith,  I  shall  impress  for  your  service,"  he  said ;  "  and 
to  do  that  I  must  leave  you.  I  have  made  that  fright- 
ened watchman  promise  to  say  nothing,  at  present,  of 
your  being  here ;  so  I  trust  the  crowd  may  not  annoy  you. 
I  shall  not  be  gone  long,  nor  far  away." 

The  first  horse  and  vehicle  which  came  was  the  one 
that  had  brought  her  there  in  the  afternoon  but  just 
past,  yet  that  seemed,  strangely,  to  have  been  so  long 
ago. 

Mr.  Rushleigh  found  her  lying  here,  quiet,  amid  the 
growing  tumult, — exhausted,  patient,  waiting. 

"  My  little  Faithie !  "  he  cried,  coming  up  to  her 
with  hands  outstretched,  and  a  quiver  of  strong  feeling 
in  his  voice.  "  To  think  that  you  should  have  been 
in  this  horrible  danger,  and  we  all  lying  in  our  beds, 
asleep!  I  do  not  quite  understand  it  all.  You  must 
tell  me,  by-and-by.  Armstrong  has  told  me  what  you 
have  done.  You  have  saved  me  half  my  property  here, 
— do  you  know  it,  child?  Can  I  ever  thank  you  for 
your  courage  ? " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Kushleigh !  "  cried  Faith,  rising  as  he 
came  to  her,  and  holding  her  hands  to  his,  "  don't  thank 
me!  and  don't  wait  here!  They'll  want  you, — and, 
oh !  my  kind  friend !  there  will  be  nothing  to  thank  me 
for,  when  I  have  told  you  what  I  must.  I  have  been 
very  near  to  death,  and  I  have  seen  life  so  clearly !  I 
know  now  what  I  did  not  know  yesterday, — what  I 
could  not  answer  you  then !  " 

"  Let  it  be  as  it  may,  I  am  sure  it  will  be  right  and 
true,  and  I  shall  honor  you,  Faith !  And  we  must  bear 
what  is,  for  it  has  come  of  the  will  of  God,  and  not 
by  any  fault  of  yours.  Now,  let  me  take  you  home." 

"May  I  do  that  in  your  stead,  Mr.  Rushleigh?" 
17 


258  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

asked  Roger  Armstrong,  who  entered  at  this  moment, 
with  garments  he  had  brought  from  somewhere  to  wrap 
Faith. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  said  Faith.  "  To  Aunt  Hender- 
son's." 

"  You  shall  do  as  you  like,"  answered  Mr.  Rushleigh. 
"  But  it  belongs  to  us  to  care  for  you,  I  think." 

"  You  do, — you  have  cared  for  me  already,"  said 
Faith,  earnestly. 

And  Mr.  Rushleigh  helped  to  wrap  her  up,  and  kissed 
her  forehead  tenderly,  and  Roger  Armstrong  lifted  her 
into  the  chaise,  and  seated  himself  by  her,  and  drove 
her  away  from  out  the  smoke  and  noise  and  curious 
crowd  that  had  begun  to  find  out  she  was  there,  and  that 
she  had  been  shut  up  in  the  mill,  and  had  saved  herself 
and  stopped  the  fire;  and  would  have  made  her  as 
uncomfortable  as  crowds  always  do  heroes  or  heroines, 
— had  it  not  been  for  the  friend  beside  her,  whose 
foresight  and  precaution  had  warded  it  all  off. 

And  the  mill-owner  went  back  among  the  villagers 
and  firemen,  to  direct  their  efforts  for  his  property. 

Glory  McWhirk  had  been  up  and  watching  the  great 
fire,  since  Roger  Armstrong  first  went  out. 

She  had  seen  it  from  the  window  of  Miss  Hender- 
son's room,  where  she  was  to  sleep  to-night;  and  had 
first  carefully  lowered  the  blinds  lest  the  light  should 
tvaken  her  mistress,  who,  after  suffering  much  pain, 
had  at  length,  by  the  help  of  an  anodyne,  fallen  asleep ; 
and  then  she  had  come  round  softly  to  the  southwest 
room,  to  call  the  minister. 

The  door  stood  open,  and  she  saw  him  sitting  in  his 
chair,  asleep.  Just  as  she  crossed  the  threshold  to 
come  toward  him,  he  started,  and  spoke  those  words  out 
of  his  restless  dream. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  259 

"  Faith !  Faith !     What  danger  is  about  you,  child  ?  " 

They  were  instinct  with  his  love.  They  were  eager 
with  his  visionary  fear.  It  only  needed  a  human  heart 
to  interpret  them. 

Glory  drew  back  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  noise- 
lessly disappeared.  She  would  not  have  him  know 
that  she  had  heard  this  cry  with  which  he  waked. 

"  He  dreamed  about  her !  and  he  called  her  Faith. 
How  beautiful  it  is  to  be  cared  for  so !  " 

Glory, — while  we  have  so  long  been  following  Faith, 
— had  no  less  been  living  on  her  own,  peculiar,  inward 
life,  that  reached  to,  that  apprehended,  that  seized 
ideally, — that  was  denied,  so  much ! 

God  leads  some  through  life  toward  Himself,  as  a 
mother  wins  a  child,  making  its  first  feeble  steps;  with 
good  held  always  in  sight,  and  always  out  beyond  the 
grasp.  There  are  those,  who  perceiving,  longing,  fall- 
ing short,  continually  put  off,  still  struggle  on  and  keep 
the  best  in  view.  There  are  those  again,  who  sit  down, 
tamely,  by  the  way,  and  turn  to  some  inferior,  easy 

joy- 
As  Glory  had  seen,  in  the  old  years,  children  happier 

than  herself,  wearing  beautiful  garments,  and  "  hair 
that  was  let  to  grow,"  she  saw  those  about  her  now 
whom  life  enfolded  with  a  grace  and  loveliness  she  might 
not  look  for ;  about  whom  fair  affections,  "  let  to  grow," 
clustered  radiant,  and  enshrined  them  in  their  lipht. 

She  saw  always  something  that  was  beyond ;  some- 
thing she  might  not  attain;  yet,  expectant  of  nothing) 
but  blindly  true  to  the  highest  within  her,  she  lost  no 
glimpse  of  the  greater,  through  lowering  herself  to  the 
less. 

Her  soul  of  womanhood  asserted  itself;  longing, 
ignorantly,  for  a  soul  love.  "  To  be  cared  for,  so!  " 


260  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

But  she  would  rather  recognize  it  afar, — rather  have 
her  joy  in  knowing  the  joy  that  might  be, — than  shut 
herself  from  knowledge  in  the  content  of  a  common, 
sordid  lot. 

She  did  not  think  this  deliberately,  however;  it  was 
not  reason,  but  instinct.  She  renounced  unconsciously. 
She  bore  denial,  and  never  knew  she  was  denied. 

Of  course,  the  thought  of  daring  to  covet  what  she 
saw,  had  never  crossed  her,  in  her  humbleness.  It  was 
quite  away  from  her.  It  was  something  with  which 
she  had  nothing  to  do.  "  But  it  must  be  beautiful  to 
be  like  Miss  Faith."  And  she  thanked  God,  mutely, 
that  she  had  this  beautiful  life  near  her,  and  could 
look  on  it  every  day. 

She  could  not  marry  Luther  Goodell. 


"  A  vague  unrest 
And  a  nameless  longing  filled  her  breast ; " 


But,  unlike  the  maiden  of  the  ballad,  she  could  not 
smother  it  down,  to  break  forth,  by-and-by,  defying 
the  "  burden  of  life,"  in  sweet  bright  vision,  grown  to 
a  keen  torture  then. 

Faith  had  read  to  her  this  story  of  Maud,  one  day. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  done  so,"  she  had  said,  when  it 
was  ended.  I'd  rather  have  kept  that  one  minute  under 
the  apple-trees  to  live  on  all  the  rest  of  my  days !  " 

She  could  not  marry  Luther  Goodell. 

Would  it  have  been  better  that  she  should?  That 
she  should  have  gone  down  from  her  dreams  into  a 
plain  man's  life,  and  made  a  plain  man  happy  ?  Some 
women,  of  far  higher  mental  culture  and  social  place, 
have  done  this,  and,  seemingly,  done  well.  Only  God 
and  tt»ir  own  hearts  know  if  the  seeming  be  true. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  261 

Glory  waited.  "Everybody  needn't  marry,"  she 
said. 

This  night,  with  those  words  of  Mr.  Armstrong's  in 
her  ears,  revealing  to  her  so  much,  she  stood  before  that 
window  of  his  and  watched  the  fire. 

Doors  were  open  behind  her,  leading  through  to  Miss 
Henderson's  chamber.  She  would  hear  her  mistress  if 
she  stirred. 

If  she  had  known  what  she  did  not  know, — that 
Faith  Gartney  stood  at  this  moment  in  that  burning 
mill,  looking  forth  despairingly  on  those  bright  waters 
and  green  fields  that  lay  between  it  and  this  home  of 
hers, — that  were  so  near  her,  she  might  discern  each 
shining  pebble  and  the  separate  grass-blades  in  the  scar- 
let light,  yet  so  infinitely  far,  so  gone  from  her  forever, 
— had  she  known  all  this,  without  knowing  the  help 
and  hope  that  were  coming, — she  would  yet  have  said 
"  How  beautiful  it  would  be  to  be  like  Miss  Faith !  " 

She  watched  the  fire  till  it  began  to  deaden,  and  the 
glow  paled  out  into  the  starlight. 

By-and-by,  up  from  the  direction  of  the  river-road, 
she  saw  a  chaise  approaching.     It  was  stopped  at  the 
corner,    by    the    bar-place.     Two    figures    descended, 
from  it,  and  entered  upon  the  field-path  through  the 
stile. 

One, — yes, — it  was  surely  the  minister !  The  other, 
— a  woman.  Who  ? 

Miss  Faith ! 

Glory  met  them  upon  the  door-stone. 

Faith  held  her  finger  up. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  disturbing  my  aunt,"  said  she. 

"Take  care  of  her,  Glory,"  said  her  companion. 
"  She  has  been  in  frightful  danger." 

"At  the  fire!     And  you—" 


262  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  I  was  there  in  time,  thank  God !  "  spoke  Roger 
Armstrong,  from  his  soul. 

The  two  girls  passed  through  to  the  blue  bedroom, 
softly. 

Mr.  Armstrong  went  back  to  the  mills  again,  with 
horse  and  chaise. 

Glory  shut  the  bedroom  door. 

"  Why,  you  are  all  wet,  and  draggled,  and  smoked !  " 
said  she,  taking  off  Faith's  outer,  borrowed  garments. 
"  What  has  happened  to  you, — and  how  came  you  there, 
Miss  Faith  ? " 

"  I  fell  asleep  in  the  counting-room,  last  evening, 
and  got  locked  in.  I  was  coming  home.  I  can't  tell 
you  now,  Glory.  I  don't  dare  to  think  it  all  over, 
yet.  And  we  mustn't  let  Aunt  Faith  know  that  I  am 
here." 

These  sentences  they  spoke  in  whispers. 

Glory  asked  no  more;  but  brought  warm  water,  and 
bathed  and  rubbed  Faith's  feet,  and  helped  her  to  un- 
dress, and  put  her  night-clothes  on,  and  covered  her 
in  bed  with  blankets,  and  then  went  away  softly  to  the 
kitchen,  whence  she  brought  back,  presently,  a  cup  of 
hot  tea,  and  a  biscuit. 

"  Take  these,  please,"  she  said. 

"I  don't  think  I  can,  Glory.  I  don't  want  any- 
thing." 

"  But  he  told  me  to  take  care  of  you,  Miss  Faith !  " 

That,  also,  had  a  power  with  Faith.  Because  he 
had  said  that,  she  drank  the  tea,  and  then  lay  back, — 
so  tired! 

"I  waited  up  till  you  came,  sir,  because  I  thought 
you  would  like  to  know,"  said  Glory,  meeting  Mr. 
Armstrong  once  more  upon  the  door-stone,  as  he  re- 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  263 

turned  a  second  time  from  the  fire.  "  She's  gone  to 
sleep,  aad  is  resting  beautiful !  " 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Glory,  and  I  thank  you,"  said 
the  minister;  and  he  put  his  hand  forth,  and  grasped 
hers  as  he  spoke.  "  Now  go  to  bed,  and  rest,  your- 
self." 

It  was  reward  enough. 

From  the  plenitude  that  waits  on  one  life,  falls  a 
crumb  that  stays  the  craving  of  another. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


"  Oh,  the  little  birds  sang  east,  and  the  little  birds  sang  west, 
And  I  said  in  underbreath, — All  our  life  is  mixed  with  death, 
And  who  knoweth  which  is  best  ? 

"  Oh,  the  little  birds  sang  east,  and  the  little  birds  sang  west, 
And  I  smiled  to  think  God's  greatness  flowed  around  our  in* 
completeness, — 

Round  our  restlessness,  His  rest." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

"  So  the  dreams  depart, 

So  the  fading  phantoms  flee, 
And  the  sharp  reality 
Now  must  act  its  part." 

WESTWOOD. 

It  was  a  little  after  noon  of  the  next  day,  when 
Mr.  Rushleigh  came  to  Cross  Corners. 

Faith  was  lying  back,  quite  pale,  and  silent, — feeling 
very  weak  after  the  terror,  excitement,  and  fatigue  she 
had  gone  through, — in  the  large  easy-chair  which  had 
teen  brought  for  her  into  the  southeast  room.  Miss 


204  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Henderson  had  been  removed  from  her  bed  to  the  sofa 
here,  and  the  two  were  keeping  each  other  quiet  com- 
pany. Neither  could  bear  the  strain  of  nerve  to  dwell 
long  or  particularly  on  the  events  of  the  night.  The 
story  had  been  told,  as  simply  as  it  might  be ;  and  the 
rest  and  the  thankfulness  were  all  they  could  think  of 
now.  So  there  were  deep  thoughts  and  few  words  be- 
tween them.  On  Faith's  part,  a  patient  waiting  for  a 
trial  yet  before  her. 

"  It's  Mr.  Rushleigh,  come  over  to  see  Miss  Faith. 
Shall  I  bring  him  in  ? "  asked  Glory,  at  the  door. 

"  Will  you  mind  it,  aunt  ? "  asked  Faith. 

"  I  ?  No,"  said  Miss  Henderson.  "  Will  you  mind 
my  being  here  ?  That's  the  question.  I'd  take  myself 
off,  without  asking,  if  I  could,  you  know." 

"  Dear  Aunt  Faith !  There  is  something  I  have  to 
say  to  Mr.  Rushleigh  which  will  be  very  hard  to  say, 
but  no  more  so  because  you  will  be  by  to  hear  it.  It  is 
better  so.  I  shall  only  have  to  say  it  once.  I  am  glad 
you  should  be  with  me." 

"  Brave  little  Faithie !  "  said  Mr.  Rushleigh,  coming 
in  with  hands  outstretched.  "  Not  ill,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Only  tired,"  Faith  answered.  "  And  a  little  weak, 
and  foolish,"  as  the  tears  would  come,  in  answer  to  his 
cordial  words. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Miss  Henderson,  that  I  could  not  have 
persuaded  this  little  girl  to  go  home  with  me  last  night, 
— this  morning,  rather.  But  she  would  come  to  you.'5 

"She  did  just  right,"  Aunt  Faith  replied.  "It's 
the  proper  place  for  her  to  come  to.  Not  but  that  we 
thank  you  all  the  same.  You're  very  kind." 

"  Kinder  than  I  have  deserved,"  whispered  Faith,  as 
he  took  his  seat  beside  her. 

Mr.  Rushleigh  would  not  let  her  lead  him  that  way 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  £65 

yet.  He  ignored  the  little  whisper,  and  by  a  gentle 
question  or  two  drew  from  her  that  which  he  had  come, 
especially,  to  learn  and  speak  of  to-day, — the  story  of 
the  fire,  and  her  own  knowledge  of,  and  share  in  it,  as 
she  alone  could  tell  it. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  as  she  recalled  it  to  explain 
her  motive  for  entering  the  mill  at  all,  the  rough  con- 
versation she  had  overheard  between  the  two  men  upon 
the  river  bank,  suggested  to  Faith,  as  the  mention  of 
it  was  upon  her  lips,  a  possible  clue  to  the  origin  of  the 
mischief.  She  paused,  suddenly,  and  a  look  of  dis- 
mayed hesitation  came  over  her  face. 

"  I  ought  to  tell  you  all,  I  suppose,"  she  continued. 
"  But  pray,  sir,  do  not  conclude  anything  hastily.  The 
two  things  may  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  each  other." 

And  then,  reluctantly,  she  repeated  the  angry  threat 
that  had  come  to  her  ears. 

Pausing,  timidly,  to  look  up  in  her  listener's  face, 
to  judge  of  its  expression,  a  smile  there  surprised  her. 

"  See  how  truth  is  always  best,"  said  Mr.  Kushleigh. 
"  If  you  had  kept  back  your  knowledge  of  this,  you 
would  have  sealed  up  a  painful  doubt  for  your  own 
tormenting.  That  man,  James  Regan,  came  to  me  this 
morning.  There  is  good  in  the  fellow,  after  all.  He 
told  me,  just  as  you  have,  and  as  Hardy  did,  the  words 
he  spoke  in  passion.  He  was  afraid,  he  said,  they 
might  be  brought  up  against  him.  And  so  he  came  to 
'own  up/  and  account  for  his  time;  and  to  beg  me  to 
believe  that  he  never  had  any  definate  thought  of  harm. 
I  told  him  I  did  believe  it;  and  then  the  poor  fellow, 
rough  as  he  is,  turned  pale,  and  burst  into  tears.  Last 
night  gave  him  a  lesson,  I  think,  that  will  go  far  to  take 
the  hardness  out  of  him.  Blasland  says,  'he  worked 
like  five  men  and  a  horse/  at  the  fire." 


2QQ  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Faith's  face  glowed  as  she  listened,  at  the  nobleness 
of  these  two;  of  the  generous,  Christian  gentleman, — 
of  the  coarse  workman,  who  wore  his  nature,  like  his 
garb, — the  worse  part  of  an  every-day. 

Fire  and  loss  are  not  all  calamity,  when  such  as  this 
comes  of  them. 

Her  own  recital  was  soon  finished. 

Mr.  Rushleigh  listened,  giving  his  whole  sympathy 
to  the  danger  she  had  faced,  his  fresh  and  fervent  ac- 
knowledgment and  admiring  praise  to  the  prompt  dar- 
ing she  had  shown,  as  if  these  things,  and  nought  else, 
had  been  in  either  mind. 

At  these  thanks, — at  this  praise, — Faith  shrank. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Rushleigh !  "  she  interrupted,  with  a  low, 
pained,  humbled  entreaty, — "  don't  speak  so !  Only 
forgive  me, — if  you  can !  " 

Her  hands  lifted  themselves  with  a  slight,  imploring 
gesture  toward  him.  He  laid  his  own  upon  them, 
gently,  soothingly. 

"  I  will  not  have  you  trouble  or  reproach  yourself, 
Faith,"  he  answered,  meeting  her  meaning,  frankly, 
now.  "  There  are  things  beyond  our  control.  All  we 
can  do  is  to  be  simply  true.  There  is  something,  I 
know,  which  you  think  lies  between  us  to  be  spoken  of. 
Do  not  speak  at  all,  if  it  be  hard  for  you. — I  will 
tell  the  boy  that  it  was  a  mistake — that  it  cannot 
be." 

But  the  father's  lip  was  a  little  unsteady,  to  his  own 
feeling,  as  he  said  the  words. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Rushleigh !  "  cried  Faith.  "  If  everything 
could  only  be  put  back  as  it  was,  in  the  old  days  before 
all  this!" 

"  But  that  is  what  we  can't  do.  Nbthing  goes  back 
precisely  to  what  it  was  before," 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  267 

"  No,"  said  Aunt  Faith,  from  her  sofa.  "  And  never 
did,  since  the  days  of  Humpty  Dumpty.  You  might 
be  glad  to,  but  you  can't  do  it.  Things  must  just  be 
made  the  best  of,  as  they  are.  And  they're  never  just 
alike,  two  minutes  together.  They're  altering,  and 
working,  and  going  on,  all  the  time.  And  that's  a  com- 
i'ort,  too,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it." 

"  There  is  always  comfort,  somehow,  when  there  has 
been  no  wilful  wrong.  And  there  has  been  none  here, 
I  am  sure." 

Faith,  with  the  half-smile  yet  upon  her  face,  called 
there  by  her  aunt's  quaint  speaking,  bent  her  head,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  I  came  to  re-assure  and  to  thank  you,  Faith — not 
to  let  you  distress  yourself  so,"  said  Mr.  Rushleigh. 
"  Margaret  sent  all  kind  messages ;  but  I  would  not 
bring  her.  I  thought  it  would  be  too  much  for  you, 
so  soon.  Another  day,  she  will  come.  We  shall  always 
claim  old  friendship,  my  child,  and  remember  our  new 
debt;  though  the  old  days  themselves  cannot  quite  be 
brought  back  again  as  they  were.  There  may  be  better 
days,  though,  even,  by-and-by." 

"  Let  Margaret  know,  before  she  comes,  please,"  whis- 
pered Faith.  "  I  don't  think  I  could  tell  her." 

"  You  shall  not  have  a  moment  of  trial  that  I  can 
spare  you.  But — Paul  will  be  content  with  nothing, 
as  a  final  word,  that  does  not  come  from  you." 

"  I  will  see  him  when  he  comes.  I  wish  it.  Oh, 
sir!  I  am  so  sorry. 

"  And  so  am  I,  Faith.  We  must  all  be  sorry.  But 
we  are  only  sorry.  And  that  is  all  that  need  be  said." 

The  conversation,  after  this,  could  not  be  prolonged. 
Mr.  Eushleigh  took  his  leave,  kindly,  as  he  had  made 
his  greeting. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Faith!  What  a  terrible  thing  I  have 
done!" 

"  What  a  terrible  thing  you  came  near  doing,  you 
mean,  child !  Be  thankful  to  the  Lord, — He's  delivered 
you  from  it!  And  look  well  to  the  rest  of  your  life, 
after  all  this.  Out  of  fire  and  misery  you  must  have 
been  saved  for  something!  " 

Then  Aunt  Faith  called  Glory,  and  told  her  to  bring 
an  egg,  beat  up  in  milk, — "  to  a  good  froth,  mind ;  and 
sugared  and  nutmegged,  and  a  teaspoonful  of  brandy  in 
it." 

This  she  made  Faith  swallow,  and  then  bade  her 
put  her  feet  up  on  the  sofa,  and  lean  back,  and  shut 
her  eyes,  and  not  speak  another  word  till  she'd  had  a 
nap. 

All  which,  strangely  enough,  Faith, — wearied, 
troubled,  yet  relieved, — obeyed. 

For  the  next  two  days,  what  with  waiting  on  the 
invalids, — for  Faith  was  far  from  well, — and  with 
answering  the  incessant  calls  at  the  door  of  curious 
people  flocking  to  inquire,  Glory  McWhirk  was  kept 
busy  and  tired.  But  not  with  a  thankless  duty,  as  in 
the  days  gone  by,  that  she  remembered;  it  was  heart- 
work  now,  and  brought  heart-love  as  its  reward.  It 
was  one  of  her  "  real  good  times." 

Mr.  Armstrong  talked  and  read  with  them,  and  gave 
hand-help  and  ministry  also,  just  when  it  could  be  given 
most  effectually. 

It  was  a  beautiful  lull  of  peace  between  the  conflict 
that  was  past,  and  the  final  pang  that  was  to  come. 
Faith  accepted  it  with  a  thankfulness.  Such  joy  as 
this  was  all  life  had  for  her,  henceforth.  There  was 
no  restlessness,  no  selfishness  in  the  love  that  had  so 
suddenly  asserted  itself,  and  borne  down  all  her  doubts. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  £69 

She  thought  not  of  it,  as  love,  any  more.  She  never 
dreamed  of  being  other  to  Mr.  Armstrong  than  she  was. 
Only,  that  other  life  had  become  impossible  to  her. 
Here,  if  she  might  not  elsewhere,  she  had  gone  back  to 
the  things  that  were.  She  could  be  quite  content  and 
happy,  so.  It  was  enough  to  rest  in  such  a  friendship. 
If  only  she  had  once  seen  Paul,  and  if  he  could  but 
bear  it ! 

And  Roger  Armstrong,  of  intent,  was  just  what  he 
had  always  been, — the  kind  and  earnest  friend, — the 
ready  helper ; — no  more.  He  knew  Faith  Gartney  had 
a  trouble  to  bear;  he  had  read  her  perplexity, — her 
indecision;  he  had  feared,  unselfishly,  for  the  mistake 
she  was  making.  Miss  Henderson  had  told  him,  now, 
in  few,  plain  words,  how  things  were  ending ;  he  strove, 
in  all  pleasant  and  thoughtful  ways,  to  soothe  and  be- 
guile her  from  her  harassment.  He  dreamed  not  how 
the  light  had  come  to  her  that  had  revealed  to  her  the 
insufficiency  of  that  other  love.  He  laid  his  own  love 
back,  from  his  own  sight. 

So,  calmly,  and  with  what  piece  they  might,  these 
hours  went  on. 

"  I  want  to  see  that  Sampson  woman,"  said  Aunt 
Faith,  suddenly,  to  her  niece,  on  the  third  afternoon 
of  their  being  together.  "  Do  you  think  she  would 
come  over  here  if  I  should  send  for  her  ?  " 

Faith  flashed  a  surprised  look  of  inquiry  to  Miss 
Henderson's  face. 

"  Why,  aunt  2  "  she  asked. 

"  Never  mind  why,  child.  I  can't  tell  you  now.  Of 
course  it's  something,  or  I  shouldn't  want  her.  Some- 
thing I  should  like  to  know,  and  that  I  suppose  she  could 
tell  me.  Do  you  think  she'd  come  ?  " 


270  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  Why,  yes,  auntie.  I  don't  doubt  it.  I  might 
write  her  a  note." 

"  I  wish  you  would.  Mr.  Armstrong  says  he'll  drive 
over.  And  I'd  like  to  have  you  do  it  right  off.  Now, 
don't  ask  me  another  word  about  it,  till  she's  been 
here." 

Faith  wrote  the  note,  and  Mr.  Armstrong  went  away. 

Miss  Henderson  seemed  to  grow  tired,  to-day,  after 
her  dinner,  and  at  four  o'clock  she  said  to  Glory,  ab- 
ruptly,— 

"  I'll  go  to  bed.     Help  me  into  the  other  room." 

Faith  offered  to  go  too,  and  assist  her.  But  her  aunt 
said,  no,  she  should  do  quite  well  with  Glory.  "  And 
if  the  Sampson  woman  comes,  send  her  in  to  me." 

Faith  was  astonished,  and  a  little  frightened. 

What  could  it  be  that  Miss  Henderson  wanted  with 
the  nurse?  Was  it  professionally  that  she  wished  to 
see  her?  She  knew  the  peculiar  whim,  or  principle, 
Miss  Samp&on  always  acted  on,  of  never  taking  cases 
of  common  illness.  She  could  not  have  sent  for  her  in 
the  hope  of  keeping  her  merely  to  wait  upon  her  wants 
as  an  invalid,  and  relieve  Glory  ?  Was  her  aunt  aware 
of  symptoms  in  herself,  foretokening  other  or  more 
serious  illness? 

Faith  eould  only  wonder,  and  wait. 

Glory  came  back,  presently,  into  the  southeast  room, 
to  say  to  Faith  that  her  aunt  was  comfortable,  and 
thought  she  should  get  a  nap.  But  that  whenever  the 
nurse  came,  she  was  to  be  shown  in  to  her. 

The  next  half-hour,  that  happened  which  drove  even 
this  thought  utterly  from  Faith's  mind. 

Paul  Rushleigh  came. 

Faith  lay,  a  little  wearily,  upon  the  couch  her  aunt 
had  quitted;  and  was  thinking,  at  the  very  moment,— 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  271 

with  that  sudden,  breathless  anticipation  that  sweeps 
over  one,  now  and  then,  of  a  thing  awaited  apprehen- 
sively,— of  whether  this  Saturday  night  would  not  prob- 
ably bring  him  home, — when  she  caught  the  sound  of  a 
horse's  feet  that  stopped  before  the  house,  and  then  a 
man's  step  upon  the  stoop. 

It  was  his.     The  moment  had  come. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  For  an  instant  she  would 
have  fled, — anywhither.  Then  she  grew  strangely  calm 
and  strong.  She  must  meet  him  quietly.  She  must 
tell  him  plainly.  Tell  him,  if  need  be,  all  she  knew 
herself.  He  had  a  right  to  all. 

Paul  came  in,  looking  grave ;  and  greeted  her  with  a 
gentle  reserve. 

A  moment,  they  stood  there  as  they  had  met,  she  with 
face  pale,  sad,  that  dared  not  lift  itself ;  he,  not  trusting 
himself  to  the  utterance  of  a  word. 

But  he  had  come  there,  not  to  reproach,  or  to  bewail ; 
not  even  to  plead.  To  hear, — to  bear  with  firmness, — 
what  she  had  to  tell  him.  And  there  was,  in  truth,  a 
new  strength  and  nobleness  in  look  and  tone,  when, 
presently,  he  spoke. 

If  he  had  had  his  way, — if  all  had  gone  prosperously 
with  him, — he  would  have  been,  still, — recipient  of  his 
father's  bounty,  and  accepted  of  his  childish  love, — 
scarcely  more  than  a  mere,  happy  boy.  This  pain, 
this  struggle,  this  first  rebuff  of  life,  crowned  him,  a 
man. 

Faith  might  have  loved  him,  now,  if  she  had  so  seen 
him,  first. 

Yet  the  hour  would  come  when  he  should  know  that 
it  had  been  better  as  it  was.  That  so  he  should  grow 
to  that  which^  otherwise,  he  had  never  been. 

"  Faith !     My  father  has  told  me.     That  it  must  be 


272  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

all  over.  'Bhat  it  was  a  mistake.  I  have  come  to  hear 
it  from  you." 

Then  he  laid  in  her  hand  his  father's  letter. 

"  This  came  with  yours,"  he  said.  "  After  this,  I 
expected  all  the  rest." 

Faith  took  the  open  sheet,  mechanically.  With  half- 
blinded  eyes,  she  glanced  over  the  few  earnest,  fatherly, 
generous  lines.  When  she  came  to  the  last,  she  spoke, 
low. 

"  Yes.  T!hat  is  it.  He  saw  it.  It  would  have 
been  no  true  marriage,  Paul,  before  heaven !  " 

"  Then  why  did  I  love  you,  Faith  ?  "  cried  the  young 
man,  impetuously. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  meditatively,  as  if  she 
really  were  to  answer  that.  "  Perhaps  you  will  come 
to  love  again,  differently,  yet,  Paul;  and  then  you 
may  know  why  this  has  been." 

"  I  know,"  said  Paul,  sadly,  "  that  you  have  been 
outgrowing  me,  Faith.  I  have  felt  that.  I  know  I've 
been  nothing  but  a  careless,  merry  fellow,  living  an 
outside  sort  of  life;  and  I  suppose  it  was  only  in  this 
outside  companionship  you  liked  me.  But  there  might 
be  something  more  in  me,  yet;  and  you  might  have 
brought  it  out,  maybe.  You  were  bringing  it  out. 
You,  and  the  responsibilities  my  father  put  upon  me. 
But  it's  too  late,  now.  It  can't  be  helped." 

"  Not  too  late,  Paul,  for  that  noble  part  of  you  to 
grow.  It  was  that  I  came  so  near  really  loving  at  the 
last.  But, — Paul !  a  woman  don't  want  to  lead  her  hus- 
band. She  wants  to  be  led.  I  have  thought,"  she  added, 
timidly,  "  so  much  of  that  verse  in  the  Epistle, — '  the 
head  of  the  woman  is  the  man,  and  the  head  of  the  man 
is  Christ,  and  the  head  of  Christ  is  God.' ' 

"  You  came  near  loving  me !  "  cried  Paul,  catching 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  £73 

at  this  sentence,  only,  out  of  all  that  should,  by-and-by, 
nevertheless,  come  out  in  letters  of  light  upon  his 
thought  and  memory.  "  Oh,  Faith !  you  may,  yet ! 
It  isn't  all  quite  over  ?  " 

Then  Faith  Gartney  knew  she  must  say  it  all.  All, 
— though  the  hot  crimson  flushed  up  painfully,  and  the 
breath  came  quick,  and  she  trembled  from  head  to  foot, 
there,  where  she  stood.  But  the  truth,  mighty,  and 
holy  in  its  might,  came  up  from  heart  to  lip,  and  the 
crimson  paled,  and  the  breath  grew  calm,  and  she  stood 
firm  with  her  pure  resolve,  even  in  her  maidenly  shame, 
before  him. 

There  are  instants,  when  all  thought  of  the  moment 
itself,  and  the  look  and  the  word  of  it,  are  overborne 
and  lost. 

"  No,  Paul.  I  will  tell  you  truly.  With  my  little, 
childish  heart,  I  loved  you.  With  the  love  of  a  dear 
friend,  I  hold  you  still,  and  shall  hold  you,  always. 
But,  Paul ! — no  one  else  knows  it,  and  I  never  knew  it 
till  I  stood  face  to  face  with  death, — with  my  soul 
I  have  come  to  love  another !  " 

Deep  and  low  these  last  words  were — given  up  from 
the  very  innermost,  and  spoken  with  bowed  head  and 
streaming  eyes. 

Paul  Rushleigh  took  her  hand.  A  manly  reverence 
in  him  recognized  the  pure  courage  that  unveiled  her 
woman's  heart,  and  showed  him  all. 

"  Faith !  "  he  said,  "  you  have  never  deceived  me. 
You  are  always  noble.  Forgive  me  that  I  have  made 
you  struggle  to  love  me !  " 

With  these  words,  he  went. 

Faith  flung  herself  upon  the  sofa,  and  hid  her  face 
in  its  cushion,  hearing,  through  her  sobs,  the  tread  of 
his  horse  as  he  passed  down  the  road. 

This  chapter  of  her  life-story  was  closed. 


274  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
NDEBE  SAMPSON'S  WAY  OF  LOOKING  AT  IT. 

"I  can  believe,  it  shall  you  grieve, 

And  somewhat  you  distrain  ; 
But  afterward,  your  paines  hard, 

Within  a  day  or  twain, 
Shall  soon  aslake  ;  and  ye  shall  take 
Comfort  to  you  again." 

OLD  ENGLISH  BALLAD. 

GLORY  looked  in,  once,  at  the  southeast  room,  and 
saw  Faith  lying,  still  with  hidden  face ;  and  went  away 
softly,  shutting  the  door  behind  her  as  she  went. 

When  Mr.  Armstrong  and  Miss  Sampson  came,  she 
met  them  at  the  front  entrance,  and  led  the  nurse 
directly  to  her  mistress,  as  she  had  been  told. 

Mr.  Armstrong  betook  himself  to  his  own  room. 
Perhaps  the  hollow  Paul  Rushleigh's  horse  had  pawed 
at  the  gate-post,  and  the  closed  door  of  the  keeping- 
room,  revealed  something  to  his  discernment  that  kept 
him  from  seeking  Faith  just  then. 

There  was  a  half-hour  of  quiet  in  the  old  house.  A 
quiet  that  everbrooded  very  much. 

Then  Xurse  Sampson  came  out,  with  a  look  on  her 
face  that  made  Faith  gaze  upon  her  with  an  awed  feel- 
ing of  expectation.  She  feared,  suddenly,  to  ask  a 
question. 

It  was  not  a  long-drawn  look  of  sympathy.     It  was 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  275 

ttot  surprised,  nor  shocked,  nor  excited.  It  was  a  look 
*f  business.  As  if  she  knew  of  work  before  her  to 
lo.  As  if  Nurse  Sampson  were  in  her  own  proper 
''lement,  once  more. 

Faith  knew  that  something, — she  could  not  guess 
ivhat, — something  terrible,  she  feared, — had  happened, 
kr  was  going  to  happen,  to  her  aunt. 

It  was  in  the  softening  twilight  that  Miss  Henderson 
tent  for  her  to  come  in. 

Aunt  Faith  leaned  against  her  pillows,  looking  bright 
and  comfortable,  even  cheerful ;  but  there  was  a  strange 
gentleness  in  look  and  word  and  touch,  as  she  greeted  the 
young  girl  who  came  to  her  bedside  with  a  face  that 
wore  at  once  its  own  subduedness  of  fresh-past  grief, 
and  a  wondering,  loving  apprehension  of  something  to 
be  disclosed  concerning  the  kind  friend  who  lay  there, 
Invested  so  with  such  new  grace  of  tenderness. 

Was  there  a  twilight,  other  than  that  of  day,  soften- 
ing, also,  around  her? 

"  Little  Faith !  "  said  Aunt  Henderson.  Her  very 
voice  had  taken  an  unwonted  tone. 

"  Auntie  !  It  is  surely  something  very  grave !  Will 
you  not  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  child.  I  mean  to  tell  you.  It  may  be  grave. 
Most  things  are,  if  we  had  the  wisdom  to  see  it.  But 
it  isn't  very  dreadful.  It's  what  I've  had  warning 
enough  of,  and  had  mostly  made  up  my  mind  to.  But 
I  wasn't  quite  sure.  Now,  I  am.  I  suppose  I've  got 
to  bear  some  pain,  and  go  through  a  risk  that  will  be 
greater,  at  my  years,  than  it  would  have  been  If  I'd 
been  younger.  And  I  may  die.  That's  all." 

The  words,  of  old  habit,  wore  abrupt.  The  eye  and 
voice  were  tender  with  unspoken. love. 

Faith  turned  to  Miss  Sampson,  who  sat  by. 


276  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  And  then,  again,  she  mayn't,"  said  the  nurse.  "  I 
shall  stay  and  see  her  through.  There'll  have  to  be 
an  operation.  At  least,  I  think  so.  We'll  have  the 
doctor  over,  to-morrow.  And  now,  if  there's  one  thing 
more  important  than  another,  it's  to  keep  her  cheerful. 
So,  if  you've  got  anything  bright  and  lively  to  say,  speak 
out !  If  not,  keep  out !  She'll  do  well  enough,  I  dare 
say." 

Poor  Faith!  And,  without  this  new  trouble,  there 
was  so  much  that  she,  herself,  was  needing  comfort 
for! 

"  You're  a  wise  woman,  Nurse  Sampson.  But  you 
don't  know  everything,"  said  Aunt  Faith.  "  The  best 
thing  to  take  people  out  of  their  own  worries,  is  to  go 
to  work  and  find  out  how  other  folks'  worries  are  getting 
on. — He's  been  here,  hasn't  he,  child  ?  " 

It  was  .not  so  hard  for  Aunt  Faith,  who  had  borne 
secretly,  so  long,  the  suspicion  of  what  was  coming, 
and  had  lived  on,  calmly,  nevertheless,  in  her  daily 
round,  to  turn  thus  from  the  announcement  of  her 
own  state  and  possible  danger,  to  thought  and  inquiry 
for  the  affairs  of  another,  as  it  was  for  that  other,  newly 
apprised,  and  but  half  apprised,  even,  of  what  threat- 
ened, to  leave  the  subject  there,  and  answer.  But  she 
saw  that  Miss  Henderson  spoke  only  truth  in  declaring 
it  was  the  best  way  to  take  her  out  of  her  worries ;  she 
read  Nurse  Sampson's  look,  and  saw  that  she,  at  any 
rate,  was  quite  resolved  her  patient  should  not  be  let 
to  dwell  longer  on  any  painful  or  apprehensive  thought, 
and  she  put  off  all  her  own  anxious  questionings,  till 
she  should  see  the  nurse  alone,  and  said,  in  a  low  tone, — 
yes,  Paul  Rushleigh  had  been  there. 

"  And  you've  told  him  the  truth,  like  a  woman,  and 
he's  heard  it  like  a  man  ? " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  $77 

"  I've  told  him  it  must  be  given  up.  Oh,  it  was  hard, 
auntie !  " 

"  You  needn't  worry.  You've  done  just  the  lightest 
thing  you  could  do." 

"  But  it  seems  so  selfish.  As  if  my  happiness  were 
of  so  much  more  consequence  than  his.  I've  made 
him  so  miserable,  I'm  afraid !  " 

"  Miss  Sampson !  "  cried  Aunt  Faith,  with  all  her 
old  oddity  and  suddenness,  "  just  tell  this  girl,  if  you 
know,  what  kind  of  a  commandment  a  woman  breaks, 
if  she  can't  make  up  her  mind  to  marry  the  first  man 
that  asks  her !  'Taint  in  my  Decalogue !  " 

"  I  can't  tell  what  commandment  she  won't  be  likely 
to  break,  if  she  isn't  pretty  sure  of  her  own  mind  before 
she  does  marry !  "  said  Miss  Sampson,  energetically. 
"  Talk  of  making  a  man  miserable !  Supposing  you  do 
for  a  little  while  ?  'Twon't  last  long.  Right's  right,  and 
settles  itself.  Wrong  never  does.  And  there  isn't  a 
greater  wrong  than  to  marry  the  wrong  man.  To  him 
as  well  as  to  you.  And  it  won't  end  there, — that's  the 
worst  of  it.  There's  more  concerned  than  just  your- 
self and  him;  though  you  mayn't  know  how,  or  who. 
It's  an  awful  thing  to  tangle  up  and  disarrange  the  plans 
of  Providence.  And  more  of  it's  done,  I  verily  believe, 
in  this  matter  of  marrying,  than  any  other  way.  It's 
like  mismatching  anything  else, — gloves  or  stockings, — 
and  wearing  the  wrong  ones  together.  They  don't  fit; 
and  more'n  that,  it  spoils  another  pair.  I  believe,  as 
true  as  I  live,  if  the  angels  ever  do  cry  over  this 
miserable  world,  it's  when  they  see  the  souls  they  have 
paired  off,  all  right,  out  of  heaven,  getting  mixed  up 
and  mismated  as  they  do  down  here !  Why,  it's  fairly 
enough  to  account  for  all  the  sin  and  misery  there  is  in 


278  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

the  world !  If  it  wasn't  for  Adam  and  Eve  and  Cain, 
I  should  think  it  did !  " 

"  But  it's  very  hard,"  said  Faith,  smiling,  despite  all 
her  saddening  thoughts,  at  the  characteristic  harangue, 
"  always  to  know  wrong  from  right.  People  may  make 
mistakes,  if  they  mean  ever  so  well." 

"  Yes,  awful  mistakes !  There's  that  poor,  unfor- 
tunate woman  in  the  Bible.  I  never  thought  the  Lord 
meant  any  reflection  by  what  he  said, — on  her.  She'd 
had  six  husbands.  And  he  knew  she  hadn't  got  what 
she  bargained  for,  after  all.  Most  likely  she  never  had, 
in  the  whole  six.  And  if  things  had  got  into  such  a 
snarl  as  that  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  how  many 
people,  do  you  think,  by  this  time,  are  right  enough 
in  themselves  to  be  right  for  anybody  ?  I've  thought  it 
all  over,  many  a  time.  I've  had  reasons  of  my  own, 
and  I've  seen  plenty  of  reasons  as  I've  gone  about  the 
world.  And  my  conclusion  is,  that  matrimony's  come 
to  be  more  of  a  discipline,  now-a-days,  than  anything 
else!" 

It  was  strange  cheer;  and  it  came  at  a  strange  mo- 
ment; with  the  very  birth  of  a  new  anxiety.  But 
so  our  moments  and  their  influences  are  mingled.  Faith 
was  roused,  strengthened,  confirmed  in  her  own  thought 
of  right,  beguiled  out  of  herself,  by  the  words  of  these 
two  odd,  plain-dealing  women,  as  she  would  not  have 
been  if  a  score  of  half-comprehending  friends  had 
soothed  her  indirectly  with  manities,  and  delicate  half- 
handling  of  that  which  Aunt  Faith  and  Nurse  Sampson 
went  straight  to  the  heart  of,  and  brought  out,  uncom- 
promisingly, into  the  light.  So  much  we  can  endure 
from  a  true  earnestness  and  simplicity,  rough  an<l 
homely  though  it  be,  which  would  be  impertinent  and 
intolerable  if  it  came  but  with  surface-sympathy. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

She  had  a  word  that  night  from  Robert  Armstrong, 
when  he  came,  late  in  the  evening,  from  a  conversation 
with  Aunt  Faith,  and  found  her  at  the  open  door  upon 
the  stoop.  It  was  only  a  hand-grasp,  and  a  fervent 
"  God  bless  you,  child !  You  have  been  brave  and 
true !  "  and  he  passed  on.  But  a  balm  and  a  quiet  fell 
deep  into  her  heart,  and  a  tone,  that  was  a  joy,  lingered 
in  her  ear,  and  comforted  her  as  no  other  earthly  com- 
fort could.  But  this  was  not  all  earthly;  it  lifted  her 
toward  heaven.  It  bore  her  toward  the  eternal  solace 
there. 

Aunt  Faith  would  have  no  scenes.  She  told  the 
others,  in  turn,  very  much  as  she  had  told  Faith,  that  a 
suffering  and  an  uncertainty  lay  before  her ;  and  then, 
by  her  next  word  and  gesture,  demanded  that  the  life 
about  her  should  go  right  on,  taking  as  slightly  as  might 
be  its  coloring  from  this  that  brooded  over  her.  Nobody 
had  a  chance  to  make  a  wail.  There  was  something  for 
each  to  do. 

Miss  Henderson,  by  Nurse  Sampson's  advice,  re- 
mained mostly  in  her  bed.  In  fact,  she  had  kept  back 
the  announcement  of  this  ailment  of  hers,  just  so  long 
as  she  could  resist  its  obvious  encroachment.  The 
twisted  ankle  had  been,  for  long,  a  convenient  explana- 
tion of  more  than  its  own  actual  disability. 

But  it  was  not  a  sick-room, — one  felt  that, — this 
little  limited  bound  in  which  her  life  was  now  visibly 
encircled.  All  the  cheer  of  the  house  was  brought  into 
it.  If  people  were  sorry  and  fearful,  it  was  elsewhere. 
Neither  Aunt  Faith  nor  the  nurse  would  let  anybody 
into  "  their  hospital,"  as  Miss  Sampson  said,  "  unless 
they  came  with  a  bright  look  for  a  pass."  Every  even- 
ing, the  great  Bible  was  opened  there,  and  Mr.  Arm- 
strong read  with  them,  and  uttered  for  them  words  that 


280  FAJTH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

lifted  each  heart,  with  its  secret  need  and  thankfulness, 
to  heaven.  All  together,  trustfully,  and  tranquilly, 
they  waited. 

Dr.  Wasgatt  had  been  called  in.  Quite  surprised  he 
was,  at  this  new  development.  He  "  had  thought  there 
was  something  a  little  peculiar  in  her  symptoms."  But 
he  was  one  of  those  ^Esculapian  worthies  who,  having 
lived  a  scientifically  uneventful  life,  plodding  quietly 
along  in  his  profession  among  people  who  had  mostly 
been  ill  after  very  ordinary  fashions,  and  who  required 
only  the  administering  of  stereotyped  remedies,  ac- 
cording to  the  old  stereotyped  order  and  rule,  had  quite 
forgotten  to  think  of  the  possibility  of  any  unusual 
complications.  If  anybody  were  taken  ill  of  a  colic, 
and  sent  for  him  and  told  him  so,  for  a  colic  he  pre- 
scribed, according  to  outward  indications.  The  subtle 
signs  that  to  a  keener  or  more  practised  discernment, 
might  have  betokened  more,  he  never  thought  of  looking 
for.  What  then?  All  cannot  be  genuises;  most  men 
just  learn  a  trade.  It  is  only  a  Columbus  who,  by  the 
drift  along  the  shore  of  the  fact  or  continent  he  stands 
on,  predicates  another,  far  over,  out  of  sight. 

Surgeons  were  to  come  out  from  Mishaumok  to  con- 
sult. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gartney  would  be  home,  now,  in  a 
day  or  two,  and  Aunt  Faith  preferred  to  wait  till  then. 
Mis'  Battis  opened  the  Cross  Corners  house,  and  Faith 
went  over,  daily,  to  direct  the  ordering  of  things  there. 

"  Faith !  "  said  Miss  Henderson,  on  the  Wednesday 
evening  when  they  were  to  look  confidently  for  the  re- 
turn of  their  travellers  next  day,  "  come  here  child !  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Faith  was  sitting  alone,  there,  with  her  aunt,  in 
the  twilight. 

"  There's  one  thing  on  my  mind,  that  I  ought  to  speak 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  281 

of,  as  things  have  turned  out.  When  I  thought,  a  few 
weeks  ago,  that  you  were  provided  for,  as  far  as  out- 
side havings  go,  I  made  a  will,  one  day.  Look  in  that 
right  hand  upper  bureau  drawer,  and  you'll  find  a  key, 
with  a  brown  ribbon  to  it.  That'll  unlock  a  black  box 
on  the  middle  shelf  of  the  closet.  Open  it,  and  take  out 
the  paper  that  lies  on  the  top,  and  bring  it  to  me." 

Faith  did  all  this,  silently. 

"  Yes,  this  is  it,"  said  Miss  Henderson,  putting  on  her 
glasses,  which  were  lying  on  the  counterpane,  and  un- 
folding the  single  sheet,  written  out  in  her  own  round, 
upright,  old-fashioned  hand.  "  It's  an  old  woman's 
whim ;  but  if  you  don't  like  it,  it  shan't  stand.  Nobody 
knows  of  it,  and  nobody '11  be  disappointed.  I  had  a 
longing  to  leave  some  kind  of  a  happy  life  behind  me,  if 
I  could,  in  the  Old  House.  It's  only  an  earthly  cling- 
ing and  hankering,  maybe ;  but  I'd  somehow  like  to  feel 
sure,  being  the  last  of  the  line,  that  there'd  be  time  for 
my  bones  to  crumble  away  comfortably  into  dust,  be- 
fore the  old  timbers  should  come  down.  I  meant,  once, 
you  should  have  had  it  all ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  you  wasn't 
going  to  need  it,  and  as  if  there  was  going  to  be  other 
kind  of  work  cut  out  for  you  to  do.  And  I'm  persuaded 
there  is  yet,  somewhere.  So  I've  done  this ;  and  I  want 
you  to  know  it  beforehand,  in  case  anything  goes  wrong, 
— no,  not  that,  but  unexpectedly, — with  me." 

She  reached  out  the  paper,  and  Faith  took  it  from 
her  hand.  It  was  not  long  in  reading. 

A  light  shone  out  of  Faith's  eyes,  through  the  tears 
that  sprang  to  them,  as  she  finished  it,  and  gave  it 
back. 

"  Aunt  Faith !  "  she  said,  earnestly.  "  It  is  beauti- 
ful !  I  am  so  glad !  But,  auntie  1  You'll  get  well,  I 
know,  and  begin  it  yourself !  " 


282  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  N"o,"  said  Miss  Henderson,  quietly.  "  I  may  get 
over  this,  and  I  don't  say  I  shouldn't  be  glad  to.  But 
I'm  an  old  tree,  and  the  ax  is  lying,  ground,  somewhere, 
that's  to  cut  me  down  before  very  long.  Old  folks  can't 
change  their  ways,  and  begin  new  plans  and  doings. 
I'm  only  thankful  that  the  Lord  has  sent  me  a  thought 
that  lightens  all  the  dread  I've  had  for  years  about 
leaving  the  old  place ;  and  that  I  can  go,  thinking  maybe 
there'll  be  His  work  doing  in  it  as  long  as  it  stands." 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  resumed,  after  a  pause,  "  how 
your  father's  affairs  are  now.  The  likelihood  is,  if  he 
has  any  health,  that  he'll  go  into  some  kind  of  a  venture 
again  before  very  long.  But  I  shall  have  a  talk  with 
him,  and  if  he  isn't  satisfied  I'll  alter  it  so  as  to  do  some- 
thing more  for  you." 

"  Something  more !  "  said  Faith.  But  you  have  done 
a  great  deal,  as  it  is!  I  didn't  say  so,  because  I  was 
thinking  so  much  of  the'other." 

"  It  won't  make  an  heiress  of  you,"  said  Aunt  Faith. 
"But  it'll  be  better  than  nothing,  if  other  means  fall 
short.  And  I  don't  feel,  somehow,  as  if  you  need  be 
a  burden  on  my  mind.  There's  a  kind  of  a  certainty 
borne  in  on  me,  otherwise.  I  can't  help  thinking  that 
what  I've  done  has  been  a  leading.  And  if  it  has,  it's 
right. — Now  put  this  back,  and  tell  Miss  Sampson  she 
may  bring  my  gruel." 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  283 


CHAPTER  XXXH. 

/  GLORY  MCWHIRK'S  INSPIRATION. 

"  No  bird  am  I  to  Sing  in  June, 
And  dare  not  ask  an  equal  boon. 
Good  nests  and  berries  red  are  Nature's 
To  give  away  to  better  creatures,— 
And  yet  my  days  go  on,  go  on." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

ME.  and  Mrs.  Gartney  arrived  on  Thursday. 

Two  weeks  and  three  days  they  had  been  absent ;  and 
in  that  time  how  the  busy  sprites  of  change  and  circum- 
stance had  been  at  work!  As  if  the  scattered  straws 
of  events,  that,  stretched  out  in  slender  winrows,  might 
have  reached  across  a  field  of  years,  had  been  raked  to- 
gether, and  rolled  over, — crowded  close,  and  heaped, 
portentous,  into  these  eighteen  days ! 

Letters  had  told  them  something ;  of  the  burned  mill, 
and  Faith's  fearful  danger  and  escape ;  of  Aunt  Hender- 
son's continued  illness,  and  its  present  serious  aspect; 
and  with  this  last  intelligence,  which  met  them  in  New 
York  but  two  days  since,  Mrs.  Gartney  found  her  daugh- 
ter's agitated  note  of  pained  avowal,  that  she  "  had  come, 
through  all  this,  to  know  herself  better,  and  to  feel  sure 
that  this  marriage  ought  not  to  be ;  "  that,  in  short,  all 
was  at  length  over  between  her  and  Paul  Rushlcigh. 

It  was  a  meeting  full  of  thought, — where  mueh  waited 
for  speech  that  letters  could  neither  have  conveyed  nor 
satisfied, — when  Faith  and  her  father  and  mother  ex- 


284  FAITH   GAKTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

changed  the  kiss  of  love  and  welcome,  once  more,  in  the 
little  home  at  Cross  Corners. 

It  was  well  that  Mis'  Battis  had  made  waffles,  and 
spread  a  tempting  summer  tea  with  these  and  her  nice, 
white  bread,  and  fruits  and  cream;  and  wished,  with 
such  faint  impatience  as  her  huge  calm  was  capable  of, 
that  "  they  would  jest  set  right  down,  while  things  was 
good  and  hot ;  "  and  that  Hendie  was  full  of  his  wonder- 
ful adventures  by  boat  and  train,  and  through  the  wilds ; 
so  that  these  first  hours  were  gotten  over,  and  all  a  little 
used  to  the  old  feeling  of  being  together  again,  before 
there  was  opportunity  for  touching  upon  deeper  sub- 
jects. 

It  came  at  length, — the  long  evening  talk,  after  Hen- 
die  was  in  bed,  and  Mr.  Gartney  had  been  over  to  the 
old  house,  and  seen  his  aunt,  and  had  come  back,  to  find 
wife  and  daughter  sitting  in  the  dim  light  beside  the 
open  door,  drawn  close  in  love  and  confidence,  and  so 
glad  and  thankful  to  have  each  other  back  once  more ! 

First, — Aunt  Faith;  and  what  was  to  be  done, — 
what  might  be  hoped — what  must  be  feared — for  her. 
Then,  the  terrible  story  of  the  fire;  and  all  about  it, 
that  could  only  be  got  at  by  the  hundred  bits  of  ques- 
tion and  answer,  and  the  turning  over  and  over,  and 
repetition,  whereby  we  do  the  best, — the  feeble  best, — 
we  can,  to  satisfy  great  askings  and  deep  sympathies 
that  never  can  be. anyhow  made  palpable  in  words. 

And,  last  of  all, — just  with  the  good-night  kiss, — 
Faith  and  her  mother  had  had  it  all  before,  in  the  first 
minutes  they  were  left  alone  together, — Mr.  Gartney 
said  to  his  daughter, — 

"  You  are  quite  certain,  now,  Faith  ?  " 

"  Quite  certain,  father ;  "  Faith  answered,  low,  with 
downcast  eyes,  as  she  stood  before  him. 


FAITH   GARTNEY*S   GIRLHOOD.  285 

Her  father  laid  his  hand  upon  her  head. 

"  You  are  a  good  girl ;  and  I  don't  blame  you ;  yet  I 
thought  you  would  have  been  safe  and  happy,  so." 

"  I  am  safe  and  happy  here  at  homo,"  said  Faith. 

"  Home  is  in  no  hurry  to  spare  you,  my  child." 

And  Faith  felt  taken  back  to  daughterhood  once 
more. 

Margaret  Rushleigh  had  been  to  see  her,  before  this. 
It  was  a  painful  visit,  with  the  mingling  of  old  love  and 
new  restraint ;  and  the  effort,  on  either  side,  to  show  that 
things,  except  in  the  one  particular,  were  still  un- 
changed. 

Faith  felt  how  true  it  was  that  "  nothing  could  go 
back,  precisely,  to  what  it  was  before." 

There  was  another  visit,  a  day  or  two  after  the  re- 
assembling of  the  family  at  Cross  Corners.  This  was  to 
say  farewell.  New  plans  had  been  made.  It  would 
take  some  time  to  restore  the  mills  to  working  order,  and 
Mr.  Rusbleigh  had  not  quite  resolved  whether  to  sell 
them  out  as  they  were,  or  to  retain  the  property.  Mrs. 
Rushleigh  wished  Margaret  to  join  her  at  Newport, 
whither  the  Saratoga  party  was  to  go  within  the  coming 
week.  Then  there  was  talk  of  another  trip  to  Europe. 
Margaret  had  never  been  abroad.  It  was  very  likely 
they  would  all  go  out  in  October. 

Paul's  name  was  never  mentioned. 

Faith  realized,  painfully,  how  her  little  hand  had 
been  upon  the  motive  power  of  much  that  was  all  ended, 
now. 

Two  eminent  medical  men  had  been  summoned  from 
Mishaumok,  and  had  held  consultation  with  Dr.  Was- 
gatt  upon  Miss  Henderson's  case.  It  had  been  decided 
to  postpone  the  surgical  operation  for  two  or  three  weeks. 
Meanwhile,  she  was  simply  to  be  kept  comfortable  and 


286  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

cheerful,  strengthened  with  fresh  air,  and  nourishing 
food,  and  some  slight  tonics. 

Faith  was  at  the  old  house,  constantly.  Her  aunt 
craved  her  presence,  and  drew  her  more  and  more  to  her- 
self. The  strong  love,  kept  down  by  a  stiff,  unbending 
manner,  so,  for  years, — resisting  almost  its  own  growth, 
— would  no  longer  be  denied  or  concealed.  Faith  Gart- 
ney  had  nestled  herself  into  the  very  core  of  this  true, 
upright  heart,  unpersuadable  by  anything  but  clear 
judgment  and  inflexible  conscience. 

"  I  had  a  beautiful  dream  last  night,  Miss  Faith," 
said  Glory,  one  morning,  when  Faith  came  over  and 
found  the  busy  handmaiden  with  her  churn  upon  the 
door-stone,  "  about  Miss  Henderson.  I  thought  she  was 
all  well,  and  strong,  and  she  looked  so  young,  and 
bright,  and  pleasant !  And  she  told  me  to  make  a  May- 
day. And  we  had  it  out  here  in  the  field.  And  every- 
body had  a  crown ;  and  everybody  was  queen.  And  the 
little  children  danced  round  the  old  apple-tree,  and 
climed  up,  and  rode  horseback  in  the  branches.  And 
Miss  Henderson  was  out  there,  dressed  in  white,  and 
looking  on.  It  don't  seem  so, — just  to  say  it;  but  I 
couldn't  tell  you  how  beautiful  it  was !  " 

"  Dreams  are  strange  things,"  said  Faith,  thought- 
fully. "  It  seems  as  if  they  were  sent  to  us,  sometimes, 
— as  if  we  really  had  a  sort  of  life  in  them." 

"  Don't  they  ?  "  cried  Glory,  eagerly.  "  Why,  Miss 
Faith,  I've  dreamed  on,  and  on,  sometimes,  a  whole 
story  out !  And,  after  all,  we're  asleep  almost  as  much 
as  we're  awake.  Why  isn't  it  just  as  real  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  dream  that  night  of  the  fire,  Glory.  I  never 
shall  forget  it.  I  went  to  sleep  there,  on  the  sofa.  And 
it  seemed  as  if  I  were  on  the  top  of  a  high,  steep  cliff, 
with  no  way  to  get  down.  And  all  at  once,  there  was 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  287 

fire  behind  me, — a  burning  mountain !  And  it  came 
nearer,  and  nearer,  till  it  scorched  my  very  feet;  and 
there  was  no  way  down.  And  then, — it  was  so  strange ! 
— I  knew  Mr.  Armstrong  was  coming.  And  two  hands 
took  me, — just  as  his  did,  afterward, — and  I  felt  so 
safe !  And  then  I  woke,  and  it  all  happened.  When  he 
came,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  called  him." 

The  dasher  of  the  churn  was  still,  and  Glory  stood, 
breathless,  in  a  white  excitement,  gazing  into  Faith's 
eyes. 

"  And  so  you  did,  Miss  Faith !  Somehow, — through 
the  dream-land, — you  certainly  did !  " 

Faith  went  in  to  her  aunt,  and  Glory  churned  and 
pondered. 

Were  these  two  to  go  on,  dreaming,  and  calling  to 
each  other  "  through  the  dream-land,"  and  never,  in 
the  daylight,  and  their  waking  hours,  speak  out  ? 

This  thought,  in  vague  shape,  turned  itself,  restlessly, 
in  Glory's  brain. 

Other  brains  revolved  a  like  thought,  also. 

"  Somebody  talked  about  a  '  ripe  pear,'  once.  I 
wonder  if  that  one  isn't  ever  going  to  fall !  " 

Ntarse  Sampson  wondered  thus,  as  she  settled  Miss 
Henderson  in  her  armchair  before  the  window,  and 
they  saw  Roger  Armstrong  and  Faith  Gartney  walk  up 
the  field  together  in  the  sunset  light. 

"  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  take  much  of  a  jog  to  do  it. 
But,  maybe,  it's  as  well  to  leave  it  to  the  Lord's  sun- 
shine. He'll  ripen  it,  if  He  sees  fit." 

"  It's  a  pretty  picture,  anyhow.  There's  the  new 
moon  exactly  over  their  right  shoulders,  if  they'd  only 
turn  their  heads  to  look  at  it.  I  don't  think  much  of 
signs ;  but,  somehow,  I  always  do  like  to  have  that  one 
come  right ! " 


288  FAITH    GARTN£Y'S    G1KL1IOOD. 

"Well,  it's  there,  whether  they've  fouDd  it  out,  or 
not,"  replied  Aunt  Faith. 

Glory  sat  on  the  flat  door-stone.  She  had  the  in- 
variable afternoon  knitting-work  in  her  hand ;  but  hand 
and  work  had  fallen  to  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  were  away 
upon  the  glittering,  faint  crescent  of  the  moon,  that 
pierced  the  golden  mist  of  sunset.  Close  by,  the  even- 
ing star  had  filled  his  chalice  of  silver  splendor. 

"  The  star  and  the  moon  only  see  each  other.  I  can 
see  both.  It  is  better." 

She  had  come  to  the  feeling  of  Roger  Armstrong's 
sermon.  To  receive  consciously,  as  she  had  through  her 
whole  life  intuitively  and  unwittingly,  all  beauty  of  all 
being  about  her  into  the  secret  beauty  of  her  own.  She 
could  be  glad  with  the  gladness  of  the  whole  world. 

The  two  came  up,  and  Glory  rose,  and  stood  aside. 

"  You  have  had  thoughts,  to-night,  Glory,"  said  the 
minister.  "  Where  have  they  been  ?  " 

"  Away,  there,"  answered  Glory,  pointing  to  the 
western  sky. 

They  turned,  and  followed  her  gesture ;  and  from  up 
there,  at  their  right,  beyond,  came  down  the  traditional 
promise  of  the  beautiful  young  moon. 

Glory  had  shown  it  them. 

"  And  I've  been  thinking,  besides,"  said  Glory, 
"  about  that  dream  of  yours,  Miss  Faith.  I've  thought 
of  it  all  day.  Please  tell  it  to  Mr.  Armstrong  ?  " 

And  Glory  disappeared  down  the  long  passage  tq 
the  kitchen,  and  left  them  standing  there,  together.  She 
went  straight  to  the  tin-baker  before  the  fire,  and  lifted 
the  cover,  to  see  if  her  biscuits  were  ready  for  tea. 
Then  she  seated  herself  upon  a  little  bench  that  stood 
against  the  chimney-side,  and  leaned  her  head  against 
the  bricks,  and  looked  down  into  the  glowing  coals. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  289 

"  It  was  put  into  my  head  to  do  it !  "  she  said, 
breathlessly,  to  herself.  "  I  hope  it  wasn't  ridiculous !  " 

So  she  sat,  and  gazed  on,  into  the  coals.  They  were 
out  there  in  the  sunset,  with  the  new  moon  and  the 
bright  star  above  them  in  the  saffron  depths. 

They  stood  alone,  except  for  each  other,  in  this  still, 
radiant  beauty  of  all  things. 

Hiss  Henderson's  window  was  around  a  projection  of 
the  rambling,  irregular  structure,  which  made  the  angle 
wherein  the  pleasant  old  door-stone  lay. 

"  May  I  have  your  dream,  Miss  Faith  ?  " 

She  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell  a  simple  dream.  Any 
more,  at  this  moment,  than  when  she  told  it  to  Glory, 
that  morning,  on  that  very  spot.  Why  did  she  feel,  that 
if  she  should  speak  a  syllable  of  it  now,  the  truth  that 
lay  behind  it  would  look  out,  resistless,  through  its  veil  ? 
That  she  could  not  so  keep  down  its  spirit-meaning, 
that  it  should  not  flash,  electric,  from  her  soul  to  his  ? 

"  It  was  only — that  night,"  she  said,  tremulously. 
"  It  seemed  very  strange.  Before  the  fire,  I  had  the 
dream.  It  was  a  dream  of  fire  and  danger, — danger 
that  I  could  not  escape  from.  And  I  held  out  my  hands, 
— and  I  found  you  there, — and  you  saved  me.  Oh,  Mr. 
Armstrong !  As  you  did  save  me,  afterward !  " 

Roger  Armstrong  turned,  and  faced  her.  His  deep, 
earnest  eyes,  lit  with  a  new,  strange  radiance,  smote  up- 
on hers,  and  held  them  spell-bound  with  their  glance. 

"  I,  too,  dreamed  that  night," — said  he, — "  of  an  un- 
known peril  to  you.  You  beckoned  me.  I  sprang  from 
out  that  dream,  and  rushed  into  the  night, — until  I 
found  you !  " 

Their  two  souls  met,  in  that  brief  recital,  and  knew 
that  they  had  met  before.     That,  through  the  dream- 
land, there  had  been  that  call  and  answer. 
19 


290  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

Faith  neither  spoke,  nor  stirred,  nor  trembled.  This 
supreme  moment  of  her  life  held  her  unmoved  in  its 
own  mightiness. 

Roger  Armstrong  held  out  both  his  hands. 

"  Faith !  In  the  sight  of  God,  I  believe  you  belong 
to  me !  " 

At  that  solemn  word,  of  force  beyond  all  claim  of  a 
mere  mortal  love,  Faith  stretched  her  hands  in  answer, 
and  laid  them  into  his,  and  bowed  her  head  above  them. 

"  In  the  sight  of  God,  I  belong  to  you !  " 

So  she  gave  herself.  So  she  was  taken.  As  God's 
gift,  to  the  heart  that  had  been  earthly  desolate  so  long. 

There  was  no  dread,  no  shrinking,  in  that  moment. 
A  perfect  love  cast  out  all  fear. 

And  the  new  moon  and  the  evening  star  shone  down 
together  in  an  absolute  peace. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

LAST  HOUES. 

"  In  this  dim  world  of  clouding  cares 
We  rarely  know,  till  'wildered  eyes 
See  white  wings  lessening  up  the  skies, 
The  angels  with  us  unawares. 

Strange  glory  streams  through  life's  wild  rents, 

And  through  the  open  door  of  death 

We  see  the  heaven  that  beckoneth 
To  the  beloved  going  hence." 

GERALD  MASSEY. 

"  READ  me  the  twenty-third  Psalm,"  said  Miss  Hen- 
derson. 

It  was  the  evening  before  the  day  fixed  upon  by  her 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  291 

physicians  for  the  surgical  operation  she  had  decided 
to  submit  to. 

Faith  was  in  her  place  by  the  bedside,  her  hand  rest- 
ing in  that  of  her  aunt.  Mr.  Armstrong  sat  near, — an 
open  Bible  before  him.  Miss  Sampson  had  gone  down 
the  field  for  a  "  snateh  of  air." 

Clear  upon  the  stillness  fell  the  sacred  words  of  cheer. 
There  was  a  strong,  sure  gladness  in  the  tone  that  ut- 
tered them,  that  told  they  were  born  anew,  in  the  breath- 
ing, from  a  heart  that  had  proved  the  goodness  and 
mercy  of  the  Lord. 

In  a  solemn  gladness,  also,  two  other  hearts  received 
them,  and  said,  silently,  Amen ! 

"  Now  the  fourteenth  of  St.  John." 

"  '  In  my  father's  house  are  many  mansions.'  e  I  will 
dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord,  forever.'  Yes.  It  holds 
us  all.  Under  one  roof.  One  family, — whatever  hap- 
pens! Now,  put  away  the  book,  and  come  here;  you 
two!" 

It  was  done ;  and  Roger  Armstrong  and  Faith  Gart- 
ney  stood  up,  side  by  side,  before  her. 

"  I  haven't  said  so  before,  because  I  wouldn't  set 
people  troubling  beforehand.  But  in  my  own  mind,  I'm 
pretty  sure  of  what's  coming.  And  if  I  hadn't  felt  so 
all  along,  I  should  now.  When  the  Lord  gives  us  our 
last  earthly  wish,  and  the  kind  of  peace  comes  over  that 
seems  as  if  it  couldn't  be  disturbed  by  anything,  any 
more,  we  may  know,  by  the  hush  of  it,  that  the  day  is 
done.  I'm  going  to  bid  you  good-night,  Faith,  and 
Bend  you  home.  Say  your  prayers,  and  thank  God,  for 
yourself  and  for  me.  Whatever  you  hear  of  me,  to- 
morrow, take  it  for  good  news;  for  it  will  be  good. — 
Roger  Armstrong!  Take  care  of  the  child !— Child ! 
love  your  husband ;  and  trust  in  him ;  for  you  may !  " 


202  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Close,  close, — bent  Faith  above  her  aunt,  and  gave 
and  took  that  solemn  good-night  kiss. 

"  l  The  grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  love 
of  God,  and  the  communion  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  be  with 
us  all.  Amen ! ' 

With  the  word  of  benediction,  Roger  Armstrong 
turned  from  the  bedside,  and  led  Faith  away. 

And  the  deeper  shadows  of  night  fell,  and  enfolded 
the  Old  House,  and  the  hours  wore  on,  and  all  was  still. 
Stillest,  calmest  of  all,  in  the  soul  of  her  who  had  dwelt 
there  for  nearly  threescore  years  and  ten,  and  who 
knew,  none  the  less,  that  it  would  be  surely  home  to  her 
wheresoever  her  place  might  be  given  her  next,  in  that 
wide  and  beautiful  "  House  of  the  Lord !  " 

It  was  a  strange  day  that  succeeded;  when  they  sat, 
waiting  so,  through  those  morning  hours,  keeping  such 
Sabbath  as  heart  and  life  do  keep,  and  are  keeping, 
somewhere,  always,  in  whatever  busy  work-day  of  the 
world,  when  great  issues  come  to  solemnize  the  time. 

Almost  as  still  at  the  Old  House  as  at  Cross  Corners. 
No  hurry.  No  bustle.  Glory  quietly  doing  her  needful 
duties,  and  obeying  all  direction  of  the  nurse.  Mr. 
Armstrong  in  his  own  room,  in  readiness  always,  for 
any  act  or  errand  that  might  be  required  of  him.  Hen- 
derson Gartney  alone  in  that  ancient  parlor  at  the  front. 
The  three  physicians,  and  Miss  Sampson  shut  with 
Aunt  Faith  into  her  room.  A  faint,  breathless  odor  cl' 
ether  creeping  everywhere,  even  out  into  the  summer 
air. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  when  a  word  was  spoken  to 
Roger  Armstrong,  and  he  took  his  hat  and  walked  across 
the  field.  Faith,  with  pale,  asking  face,  met  him  at  the 
door. 

"  Well, — thus  far;  "  was  the  message;  and  a  kiss  fell 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  393 

upon  the  uplifted  forehead,  and  a  look  of  boundless  love 
and  sympathy  into  the  fair,  anxious  eyes.  "  All  has 
been  done ;  and  she  is  comfortable.  There  may  still  be 
danger;  but  the  worst  is  past." 

Then  a  brazen  veil  fell  from  before  the  face  of  day. 
The  sunshine  looked  golden  again,  and  the  song  of  birds 
rang  out,  unmuffled.  The  strange,  Sabbath  stillness 
might  be  broken.  They  could  speak  common  words,  once 
more. 

Faith  and  her  mother  sat  there,  in  the  hill-side  parlor, 
talking  thankfully,  and  happily,  with  Roger  Armstrong. 
So  a  half-hour  passed  by.  Mr.  Gartney  would  come, 
with  further  tidings,  when  he  had  been  able  to  speak 
with  the  physicians. 

The  shadows  of  shrub  and  tree  crept  and  shortened  to 
the  lines  of  noon,  and  still,  no  word.  They  began  to 
wonder,  why. 

Mr.  Armstrong  would  go  back.  He  might  be  wanted, 
somehow.  They  should  hear  again,  immediately,  unless 
he  were  detained. 

He  was  not  detained.  They  watched  him  up  the  field, 
and  into  the  angle*  of  the  door-way.  He  was  hidden 
there  a  moment,  but  not  more.  Then  they  saw  him 
turn,  as  one  lingering  and  reluctant,  and  retrace  his 
steps  toward  them. 

"Faith!  Stay  here,  darling!  Let  me  meet  him 
first,"  said  Mrs.  Gartney. 

Faith  shrank  back,  fearful  of  she  knew  not  what,  in- 
to the  room  they  had  just  quitted. 

A  sudden,  panic  dread  and  terror  seized  her.  She 
felt  her  hearing  sharpened,  strained,  involuntarily.  She 
should  catch  that  first  word,  however  it  might  be  spoken. 
She  dared  not  hear  it,  yet.  Out  at  the  hill-side  door, 


294  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

into  the  shade  of  the  deep  evergreens,  she  passed,  with  a 
quick  impulse. 

Thither  Roger  Armstrong  followed,  presently,  and 
found  her.  With  the  keen  instinct  of  a  loving  sym- 
pathy, he  knew  she  fled  from  speech.  So  he  put  his  arm 
about  her,  silently,  tenderly;  and  led  her  on,  and  up, 
under  the  close,  cool  shade,  the  way  their  steps  had  come 
to  know  so  well. 

"  Take  it  for  good  news,  darling.  For  it  is  good,"  he 
said,  at  last,  when  he  had  placed  her  in  the  rocky  seat, 
where  she  had  listened  to  so  many  treasured  words, — 
to  that  old,  holy  confidence, — of  his. 

And  there  he  comforted  her. 

A  sudden  sinking, — a  prostration  beyond  what  they 
had  looked  for,  had  surprised  her  attendants;  and,  al- 
most with  their  notice  of  the  change,  the  last,  pale,  gray 
shadow  had  swept  up  over  the  calm,  patient  face,  and 
good  Aunt  Faith  had  passed  away. 

Away, — for  a  little.  Not  out  of  God's  house.  Not 
lost  out  of  His  household. 

This  was  her  will. 


"  I,  Faith  Henderson,  spinster,  in  sound  mind,  and  of  my  own 
will,  direct  these  things. 

"  That  to  my  dear  grandniece,  Faith  Henderson  Gartney,  be 
given  from  me,  as  my  bequest,  that  portion  of  my  worldly  prop- 
erty now  invested  in  two  stores  in  D Street,  in  the  city  of 

Mishaumok.  That  this  property  and  interest  be  hers,  for  her  own 
use  and  disposal,  with  my  love. 

"Also,  that  my  plate,  and  my  box  of  best  house  linen,  which 
st'imls  beside  the  press  in  the  northwest  chamber,  be  given  to 
h*>r.  Faith  Henderson  Gartney  ;  and  that  my  nephew,  Henderson 
G.irtney,  shall,  accorning  to  his  own  pleasure  and  judgment,  ap- 
propriate and  dispose  of  any  books,  or  articles  of  old  family  value 
and  interest.  But  that  beds,  bedding,  and  all  heavy  household 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 


295 


furniture,  with  a  proper  number  of  chairs  and  other  movables, 
be  retained  in  the  house,  for  its  necessary  and  suitable  furnishing. 

"  And  then,  that  all  this  residue  of  personal  effects,  and  my 
real  estate  in  the  Old  Homestead  at  Kinnicut  Cross  Corners,  and 
my  shares  in  the  Kinnicutt  Bank,  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  my 
nephew,  Henderson  Gartney,  to  be  held  in  trust  during  the  natural 
life  of  my  worthy  and  beloved  handmaiden,  Gloriana  McWhirk  ; 
for  her  to  occupy  said  house,  and  use  said  furniture,  and  the  in- 
come of  said  peoperty,  so  long  as  she  can  find  at  least  four  orphan 
children  to  maintain  therewith,  and  "  make  a  good  time  for, 
every  day." 

Provided,  that  in  case  the  said  Gloriana  McWhirk  shall  marry, 
or  shall  no  longer  so  employ  this  property,  or  in  case  that  she 
shall  die,  said  property  is  to  revert  to  my  above-named  grand- 
neice,  Faith  Henderson  Gartney,  for  her  and  her  heirs,  to  their 
use  and  behoof  forever. 

"  And  if  there  be  any  failure  of  a  legal  binding  in  this  paper 
that  I  write,  I  charge  it  upon  my  nephew,  Henderson  Gartney, 
on  his  conscience,  as  I  believe  him  to  be  a  true  and  honest  man, 
to  see  that  these  my  effects  are  so  disposed  of,  according  to  my 
plain  will  and  intention. 

(Signed)  FAITH  HENDERSON. 

(Witnessed) 

ROGER  ARMSTRONG, 
HIRAM  WASGATT, 
LUTHER  GOODELL." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

MRS.    PARLEY    GIMP. 

"The  best  laid  schemes  o'  mice  an'  men 
Gang  aft  agley." 

BURNS. 

KIITNICIITT  had  got  an  enormous  deal  to  talk  about 
The  excitement  of  the  great  fire,  and  the  curiosity  and 
astonishment  concerning  Miss  Gartney's  share  in  the 
events  of  that  memorable  night  had  hardly  passed  into 


296  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

the  quietude  of  things  discussed  to  death  and  laid  away, 
unwillingly,  in  their  graves,  when  all  this  that  had 
happened  at  Cross  Corners  poured  itself,  in  a  flood  of 
wonder,  upon  the  little  community. 

Not  all,  quite,  at  once,  however.  Faith's  engage- 
ment was  not,  at  first,  spoken  of  publicly.  There  was 
no  need,  in  this  moment  of  their  common  sorrow,  to  give- 
their  names  to  the  little  world  about  them,  for  such 
handling  as  it  might  please.  Yet  the  little  world  found 
plenty  to  say,  and  a  great  many  plans  to  make  for  them 
none  the  less. 

Miss  Henderson's  so  long  unsuspected,  and  apparently 
brief  illness,  her  sudden  death,  and  the  very  singular 
will  whose  provisions  had  somehow  leaked  out,  as  mat- 
ters of  the  sort  always  do,  made  a  stir  and  ferment  in 
the  place,  and  everybody  felt  bound  to  arrive  at  some 
satisfactory  conclusion  which  should  account  for  all,  and 
to  get  a  clear  idea  of  what  everybody  immediately  con- 
cerned would  do,  or  ought,  in  the  circumstances,  to  do 
next,  before  they, — the  first  everybodies, — could  eat  and 
sleep,  and  go  comfortably  about  their  own  business 
again,  in  the  ordinary  way. 

They  should  think  Mr.  Gartney  would  dispute  the 
will.  It  couldn't  be  a  very  hard  matter,  most  likely, 
to  set  it  aside.  All  that  farm,  and  the  Old  Homestead, 
and  her  money  in  the  bank,  going  to  that  Glory  Mc- 
Whirk!  Why,  it  was  just  ridiculous.  The  old  lady 
must  have  been  losing  her  faculties.  One  thing  was  cer- 
tain, any  way.  The  minister  was  out  of  a  boarding- 
place  again.  So  that  question  came  up,  in  all  its  intri- 
cate bearings,  once  more. 

This  time  Mrs.  Gimp  struck,  while,  as  she  thought, 
the  iron  was  hot. 

Mr.  Parley  Gimp  met  Mr.  Armstrong,  one  morning, 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  297 

in  the  village  street,  and  waylaid  him  to  say  that  "  his 
good  lady  thought  she  could  make  room  for  him  in  their 
family,  if  it  was  so  that  he  should  be  looking  out  for  a 
place  to  stay  at." 

Mr.  Armstrong  thanked  him;  but,  for  the  present, 
he  was  to  remain  at  Cross  Corners. 

"  At  the  Old  House  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     At  Mr.  Gartney's." 

The  iron  was  cold,  after  all. 

Mrs.  Parley  Gimp  called,  one  day,  a  week  or  two 
later,  when  the  minister  was  out.  A  visit  of  sympathetic 
scrutiny. 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  great  loss,  certainly.  But  then,  at  her 
age,  you  know,  ma'am!  We  must  all  expect  these 
things.  It  was  awfully  sudden,  to  be  sure.  Must  have 
been  a  terrible  shock.  Was  her  mind  quite  clear  at 
the  last  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.  Clear,  and  calm,  and  happy,  through  it 
all." 

"  That's  very  pleasant  to  think  of  now,  I'm  sure. 
But  I  hear  she's  made  a  very  extraordinary  arrangement 
about  the  property.  You  can't  tell,  though,  to  be  sure, 
about  all  you  hear,  now-a-days." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Gimp.  That  is  very  true,"  said  Mrs. 
Gartney. 

"  Everybody  always  expected  that  it  would  all  come 
to  you.  At  least,  to  your  daughter.  She  seemed  to 
make  so  much  of  her." 

"  My  daughter  is  quite  satisfied,  and  we  for  her." 

"  Well,  I  must  say ! — and  so,  Mr.  Armstrong  is  to 
board  here,  now  ?  A  little  out  of  the  way  of  most  of 
the  parish,  isn't  it  ?  I  never  could  see,  exactly,  what  put 
it  into  his  head  to  come  so  far.  Not  but  what  he  makes 
out  to  do  his  duty  as  a  pastor,  pretty  prompt,  too.  I 


298  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

don't  hear  any  complaints.  He's  rather  off  and  on 
about  settling,  though.  I  guess  he's  a  man  that  keeps 
his  intentions  pretty  close  to  himself, — and  all  his 
affairs,  for  that  matter.  Of  course  he's  a  perfect  right 
to.  But  I  will  say  I  like  to  know  all  about  folks  from 
the  beginning.  It  aggravates  me  to  have  to  begin  in  the 
middle.  I  tell  Serena,  it's  just  like  reading  a  book  when 
the  first  volume's  lost.  I  don't  suppose  I'm  much  more 
curious  than  other  people ;  but  I  should  like  to  know  just 
how  old  he  is,  for  one  thing;  and  who  his  father  and 
mother  were ;  and  where  he  came  from  in  the  first  place, 
and  what  he  lives  on,  for  'taint  our  salary,  I  know  that ; 
he's-  given  away  more'n  half  of  it  a'  ready, — right  here 
in  the  village.  I've  said  to  my  husband,  forty  times, 
if  I've  said  it  once,  '  I  declare,  I've  a  great  mind  to 
ask  him  myself,  straight  out,  just  to  see  what  he'll 
say.'" 

"  And  why  not  ? "  asked  a  voice,  pleasantly,  behind 
her. 

Mr.  Armstrong  had  come  in,  unheard  by  the  lady  in 
her  own  rush  of  words,  and  had  approached  too  near, 
as  this  suddenly  ceased,  to  be  able  to  escape  again  un- 
noticed. 

Mis'  Battis  told  Luther  Goodell  afterward,  that  she 
"  jest  looked  in  from  the  next  room,  at  that,  and  if  ever 
a  woman  felt  cheap, — all  over, — and  as  if  she  hadn't  a 
right  to  her  own  toes  and  fingers,  and  as  if  every  thread 
and  stitch  on  her  turned  mean,  all  at  once, — it  was  Mrs. 
Gimp,  that  minit !  " 

"  Has  Faith  returned  ?  "  Mr.  Armstrong  asked,  of 
Mrs.  Gartney,  after  a  little  pause  in  which  Mrs.  Gimp 
showed  no  disposition  to  develop  into  deed  her  forty 
times  declared  "  great  mind." 

"  I  think  not.    She  said  she  would  remain  an  hour  or 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  299 

two  with  Glory,  and  help  her  to  arrange  those  matters 
she  came  in,  this  morning,  to  ask  us  about." 

"  I  will  walk  over." 

And  the  minister  took  his  hat  again,  and  with  a 
bow  to  the  two  ladies,  passed  out,  and  across  the 
lane. 

"  Faith !  "  ejaculated  the  village  matron,  her  courage 
and  her  mind  to  meddle  returning.  "  Well,  that's  inti- 
mate !  " 

It  might  as  well  be  done  now,  as  at  any  time.  Mr. 
Armstrong,  himself,  had  heedlessly  precipitated  the  oc- 
casion. It  had  only  been,  among  them,  a  question  of 
how  and  when.  There  was  nothing  to  conceal. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Gartney,  quietly.  "  They  will 
be  married  by-and-by." 

"  Did  she  go  out  the  door,  ma'am  ?  Or  has  she  melted 
down  into  the  carpet  ?  'Cause,  I  have  heerd  of  people 
sinkin'  right  through  the  floor,"  said  Mis'  Battis,  who 
"  jest  looked  in  "  a  second  time,  as  the  bewildered  visi- 
tor receded. 

The  pleasant  autumn  months,  mellowing  and  bright- 
ening all  things,  seemed  also  to  soften  and  gild  their 
memories  of  the  life  that  had  ended,  ripely  and  beauti- 
fully, among  them. 

Glory,  after  the  first  overwhelm  of  astonishment  at 
what  had  befallen  her, — made  fully  to  understand  that 
which  she  had  a  right,  and  was  in  duty  bound  to  do, — 
entered  upon  the  preparations  for  her  work  with  the 
same  unaffected  readiness  with  which  she  would  have 
done  the  bidding  of  her  living  mistress.  It  was  so  evi- 
dent that  her  true  humbleness  was  untouched  by  all 
"  It's  beautiful !  "  and  the  tears  and  smiles  would  come 
together  as  she  said  it.  "But  then,  Miss  Faith — Mr. 


300  FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

Armstrong  1  I  never  can  do  any  of  it  unless  yon  help 
me!" 

Faith  and  Mr.  Armstrong  did  help  with  heart  and 
hand,  and  every  word  of  counsel  that  she  needed. 

"  I  must  buy  some  cotton  and  calico,  and  make  some 
little  clothes  and  tyers.  Hadn't  I  better?  When  they 
come,  I'll  have  them  to  take  care  of." 

And  with  the  loving  anticipation  of  a  mother,  she 
made  up,  and  laid  away,  Faith  helping  her  in  all, 
her  store  of  small  apparel  for  little  ones  that  were  to 
come. 

She  had  gone  down,  one  day,  to  Mishaumok,  and 
found  out  Bridget  Foye,  at  the  old  number  in  High 
Street.  And  to  her  she  had  entrusted  the  care  of  looking 
up  the  children, — to  be  not  less  than  five,  and  not  more 
than  eight  or  nine  years  of  age, — who  should  be  taken 
to  live  with  her  at  "  Miss  Henderson's  home,"  and 
"  have  a  good  time  every  day." 

"  I  must  get  them  here  before  Christmas,"  said  Glory 
to  her  friends.  "  We  must  hang  their  stockings  all  up 
by  the  great  kitchen  chimney,  and  put  sugar-plums  and 
picture  books  in !  " 

She  was  going  back  eagerly  into  her  child-life, — 
rather  into  the  life  her  childhood  wist  of,  but  missed, — 
and  would  live  it  all  over,  now,  with  these  little  ones, 
taken  already,  before  even  they  were  seen  or  found,  out 
of  their  stranger-hood  into  her  great,  kindly  heart! 

A  plain,  capable,  motherly  woman  had  been  obtained, 
by  Mr.  Armstrong's  efforts  and  inquiry,  who  would  live 
with  Glory  as  companion  and  assistant.  There  was  the 
dairy-work  to  be  carried  on,  still.  This,  and  the  hay- 
crops,  made  the  principal  income  of  the  Old  Farm. 
A  few  fields  were  rented  for  cultivation. 

"  Just  think,"  cried  Glory  when  the  future  manage- 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

ment  of  these  matters  was  talked  of,  "  what  it  will  be  to 
see  the  little  things  let  out  a  rolling  in  the  new  hay !  " 

Her  thoughts  passed  so  entirely  over  herself,  as  holder 
and  arbiter  of  means,  to  the  good, — the  daily  little  joy, 
— that  was  to  come,  thereby,  to  others ! 

When  all  was  counted  and  calculated,  they  told  her 
that  she  might  safely  venture  to  receive,  in  the  end,  six 
children.  But  that,  for  the  present,  four  would  per- 
haps be  as  many  as  it  would  be  wise  for  her  to  under- 
take. 

"  You  know  best,"  she  said,  "  and  I  shall  do  what- 
ever you  say.  But  I  don't  feel  afraid, — any  more,  that 
is,  for  taking  six  than  four.  I  shall  just  do  for  them  all 
the  time,  whether  or  no." 

"  And  what  if  they  are  bad  and  troublesome,  Glory  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  won't  be,"  she  replied.  "  I  shall  love  them 
so!" 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

INDIAN   SUMMER. 

Tis  as  if  the  benignant  Heaven 
Had  a  new  revelation  given, 

And  written  it  out  with  gems ; 

For  the  golden  tops  of  the  elms 
And  the  burnished  bronze  of  the  ash 
And  the  scarlet  lights  that  flash 
From  the  sumach's  points  of  flame, 

Like  blazonings  on  a  scroll 
Spell  forth  an  illumined  Name 

For  the  reading  of  the  soul ! 

IT  if  of  no  use  to  dispute  about  the  Indian  Summer. 
I  never  found  two  people  who  could  agree  as  to  the  time 


302  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

when  it  ought  to  be  here,  or  upon  a  month  and  day  when 
it  should  be  decidedly  too  late  to  look  for  it.  It  keeps 
coming.  After  the  Equinoctial,  which  begins  to  be 
talked  about  with  the  first  rains  of  September,  and  isn't 
done  with  till  the  Sun  has  measured  half-a-dozen  degrees 
of  south  declination,  all  the  pleasant  weather  is  Indian 
Summer, — away  on  to  Christmas-tide.  For  my  part,  I 
think  we  get  it  now  and  then,  little  by  little,  as  "  the 
kingdom "  comes.  That  every  soft,  warm,  mellow, 
hazy,  golden  day,  like  each  fair,  fragrant  life,  is  a  part 
and  outcrop  of  it;  though  weeks  of  gale  and  frost,  or 
ages  of  cruel  worldliness  and  miserable  sin  may  lie  be- 
tween. 

It  was  an  Indian  Summer  day,  then ;  and  it  was  in 
October. 

Faith  and  Mr.  Armstrong  walked  over  the  brook,  and 
round  by  Pasture  Rocks,  to  the  "  little  chapel,"  as  Faith 
had  called  it,  since  the  time,  last  winter,  when  she  and 
Glory  had  met  the  minister  there,  in  the  still,  wonder- 
ful, pure  beauty  that  enshrined  it  on  that  "  diamond 
morning." 

The  elms  that  stood  then,  in  their  icy  sheen,  about 
the  meadows,  like  great  cataracts  of  light,  were  soft 
with  amber  drapery,  now ;  translucent  in  each  leaf  with 
the  detained  sunshine  of  the  summer;  and  along  the 
borders  of  the  wood-walk,  scarlet  flames  of  sumach 
sprang  out,  vivid,  from  among  the  lingering  green ;  and 
birches  trembled  with  their  golden  plumes ;  and  bronzed 
ash  boughs,  and  deep  crimsons  and  maroons  and  choco- 
late-browns and  carbuncle  red  that  crowned  the  oaks 
with  richer  and  intenser  hues,  made  up  a  wealth  and 
massiveness  of  beauty  wherein  eye  and  thought  revelled 
and  were  sated. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  393 

Over  and  about  all,  the  glorious  October  light,  and 
the  dreamy  warmth  that  was  like  a  palpable  love. 

They  stood  on  the  crisp  moss  carpet  of  the  "half- 
way rock," — the  altar-crag  behind  them,  with  its  cheru- 
bim that  waved  illumined  wings  of  tenderer  radiance 
now, — and  gazed  over  the  broad  outspread  of  marvellous 
color;  and  thought  of  the  summer  that  had  come  and 
gone  since  they  had  stood  there,  last,  together,  and  of 
the  beauty  that  had  breathed  alike  on  earth  and  into  life, 
for  them. 

"  Faith,  darling !  Tell  me  your  thought,"  said  Roger 
Armstrong. 

"  This  was  my  thought,"  Faith  answered,  slowly. 
"  That  first  sermon  you  preached  to  us, — that  gave  me 
such  a  hope,  then, — that  comes  up  to  me  so,  almost  as 
a  warning,  now!  The  poor, — that  were  to  have  the 
kingdom  !  And  then,  those  other  words, — '  how  hardly 
shall  they  who  have  riches  enter  in ! '  And  I  am  so 
rich !  It  frightens  me." 

"  Entire  happiness  does  make  one  tremble.  Only,  if 
we  feel  God  in  it,  and  stand  but  the  more  ready  for 
His  work,  we  may  be  safe." 

"  His  work — yes,"  Faith  answered.  "  But  now  he 
only  gives  me  rest.  It  seems  as  if,  somehow,  I  were  not 
worthy  of  a  hard  life.  As  if  all  things  had  been  made 
too  easy  for  me.  And  I  had  thought,  so,  of  some  great 
and  difficult  thing  to  do." 

Then  Faith  told  him  of  the  oracle  that,  years  ago, 
had  first  wakened  her  to  the  thought  of  what  life  might 
be ;  of  the  "  high  and  holy  work  "  that  she  had  dreamed 
of,  and  of  her  struggles  to  fulfil  it,  feebly,  in  the  only 
ways  that  as  yet  had  opened  for  her. 

"  And  now — just  to  receive  all, — love,  and  help,  and 
care, — and  to  rest,  and  to  be  so  wholly  happy !  " 


304  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

"  Believe,  darling,  that  we  are  led,  through  all.  That 
the  oil  of  joy  is  but  as  an  anointing  for  a  nobler  work. 
It  is  only  so  I  dare  to  think  of  it.  We  shall  have  plenty 
to  do,  Faithie!  And,  perhaps,  to  bear.  It  will  all  be 
set  before  us,  in  good  time." 

"  But  nothing  can  be  hard  to  do,  any  more.  That  is 
what  makes  me  almost  feel  unworthy.  Look  at  Nurse 
Sampson.  Look  at  Glory.  They  have  only  their  work, 
and  the  love  of  God  to  help  them  in  it.  And  I — !  Oh, 
I  am  not  poor  any  longer.  The  words  don't  seem  to  be 
for  me." 

"  Let  us  take  them  with  their  double-edge  of  truth, 
then.  Holding  ourselves  always  poor,  in  sight  of  the 
infinite  spiritual  riches  of  the  kingdom.  Blessed  are 
the  poor,  who  can  feel,  even  in  the  keenest  earthly  joy, 
how  there  is  a  fulness  of  life  laid  up  in  Him  who  gives 
it,  of  whose  depth  the  best  gladness  here  is  but  a  glimpse 
and  foretaste!  We  will  not  be  selfishly  or  unworthily 
content,  God  helping  us,  my  little  one !  " 

"  It  is  so  hard  not  to  be  content !  "  whispered  Faith, 
as  the  strong,  manly  arm  held  her,  in  its  shelter,  close 
beside  the  noble,  earnest  heart. 

"  I  think,"  said  Roger  Armstrong,  afterward,  as 
they  walked  down  over  the  fragrant  pathway  of  fallen 
pine  leaves,  "  that  I  have  never  known  an  instance  of 
one  more  evidently  called,  commissioned,  and  prepared 
for  a  good  work  in  the  world,  than  Glory.  Her  whole 
life  has  been  her  education  for  it.  It  is  not  without  a 
purpose,  when  a  soul  like  hers  is  left  to  struggle  up 
through  such  externals  of  circumstance.  We  can  love 
and  help  her  in  it,  Faith;  and  do  something,  in  our 
way,  for  her,  as  she  will  do,  in  hers,  for  others." 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  assented  Faith,  impulsively.  "  I  have 
wished "  but  there  she  stopped. 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"'Am  I  to  hear  no  more  ? "  asked  Mr.  Armstrong, 
presently.  "  Have  I  not  a  right  to  insist  upon  the 
wish?" 

"  I  forgot  what  I  was  coming  to,"  said  Faith,  blush- 
ing deeply.  "  I  spoke  of  it,  one  day,  to  mother.  And 
she  said  it  was  a  thing  I  couldn't  decide  for  myself,  now. 
That  some  one  else  would  be  concerned,  as  well  as  I." 

"  And  some  one  else  will  be  sure  to  wish  as  you  do. 
Only  there  may  be  a  wisdom  in  waiting.  Faithie, — I 
have  never  told  you  yet, — will  you  be  frightened  if  I 
tell  you  now, — that  I  am  not  a  poor  man,  as  the  world 
counts  poverty?  My  friend,  of  whom  you  know,  in 
those  terrible  days  of  the  commencing  pestilence,  having 
only  his  daughter  and  myself  to  care  for,  made  his 
will;  in  provision  against  whatever  might  befall  them 
there.  By  that  will, — through  the  fearful  sorrow  that 
made  it  effective, — I  came  into  possession  of  a  large 
property.  Your  little  inheritance,  Faithie,  goes  into 
your  own  little  purse  for  private  expenditures  or  chari- 
ties. But  for  the  present,  as  it  seems  to  me,  Glory  has 
ample  means  for  all  that  it  is  well  for  her  to  under- 
take. By-and-by,  as  she  gains  in  years  and  in  experi- 
ence, you  will  have  it  in  your  power  to  enlarge  her  field 
of  good.  *  Miss  Henderson's  Home '  may  grow  into  a 
wider  benefit  than  even  she,  herself,  foresaw." 

Faith  was  not  frightened.  These  were  not  the  riches 
that  could  make  her  tremble  with  a  dread  lest  earth 
(should  too  fully  satisfy.  This  was  only  a  promise  of 
new  power  to  work  with;  a  guaranty  that  God  was  not 
leaving  her  merely  to  care  for  and  to  rest  in  a  good  that 
must  needs  be  all  her  own. 

"  We  shall  find  plenty  to  do,  Faithie  I "  Mr.  Arm- 
strong repeated;  and  he  held  her  hand  in  his  with  a 
strong  pressure  that  told  how  the  thought  of  that  work 
20 


306  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

to  come,  and  her  sweet  and  entire  association  in  it, 
leaped  along  his  pulses  with  a  living  joy. 

Faith  caught  it;  and  all  fear  was  gone.  She  could 
not  shrink  from  the  great  blessedness  that  was  laid  upon 
her,  any  more  than  Nature  could  refuse  to  wear  her 
coronation  robes,  that  trailed  their  radiance  in  this 
path  they  trod. 

Life  held  them  in  a  divine  harmony. 

The  October  sun,  that  mantled  them  with  warmth 
and  glory ;  the  Indian  Summer,  that  transfigured  earth 
about  them;  all  tints, — all  redolence, — all  broad  beati- 
tude of  globe  and  sky, — were  none  too  much  to  breath 
out  and  make  palpable  the  glad  and  holy  auspice  of  the 
hour. 

Mr.  Gartney  had  gradually  relinquished  his  half- 
formed  thought  of  San  Francisco.  Already  the  unset- 
tled and  threatening  condition  of  affairs  in  the  country 
had  begun  to  make  men  feel  that  the  time  was  not  one 
for  new  schemes  or  adventurous  changes.  Somehow, 
the  great  wheels,  mercantile  and  political,  had  slipped 
out  of  their  old  grooves,  and  went  laboring,  as  it  were, 
roughly  and  at  random,  with  fierce  clattering  and  jolt- 
ing, quite  off  the  ordinary  track ;  so  that  none  could  say 
whether  they  should  finally  regain  it,  and  roll  smoothly 
forward,  as  in  the  prosperous  and  peaceful  days  of  the 
past,  or  should  bear  suddenly  and  irretrievably  down  to 
some  horrible,  unknown  crash  and  ruin. 

Henderson  Gartney,  however,  was  too  restless  a  man 
to  wait,  with  entire  passiveness,  the  possible  turn  and 
issue  of  things. 

Quite  strong,  again,  in  health, — so  great  a  part  of  his 
burden  and  anxiety  lifted  from  him  in  the  marriages, 
actual  and  prospective,  of  his  two  daughters, — and  his 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

means  augmented  by  the  sale  of  a  portion  of  his  western 
property  which  he  had  effected  during  his  summer 
visit  thereto, — it  was  little  to  be  looked  for  that  he 
should  consent  to  vegetate,  idly  and  quietly,  through  a 
second  winter  at  Cross  Corners. 

The  first  feeling  of  some  men,  apparently,  when  they 
have  succeeded  in  shuffling  off  a  load  of  difficulty,  is  a 
sensation  of  the  delightful  ease  with  which  they  can 
immediately  shoulder  another.  As  when  one  has  just 
cleared  a  desk  or  drawer  of  rubbish,  there  is  such  a 
tempting  opportunity  made  for  beginning  to  stow  away 
and  accumulate  again.  Well !  the  principle  is  an  eternal 
one.  Nature  does  abhor  a  vacuum. 

The  greater  portion  of  the  ensuing  months,  therefore, 
Mr.  Gartney  spent  in  New  York ;  whither  his  wife  and 
children  accompanied  him,  also,  for  a  stay  of  a  few 
weeks;  during  which,  Faith  and  her  mother  accom- 
plished the  inevitable  shopping  that  a  coming  wedding 
necessitates;  and  set  in  train  of  preparation  certain 
matters  beyond  the  range  of  Kinnicutt  capacity  and 
resource. 

Mr.  Armstrong,  too,  was  obliged  to  be  absent  from 
his  parish  for  a  little  time.  Affairs  of  his  own  re- 
quired some  personal  attention.  He  chose  these  weeks 
while  the  others,  also,  were  away. 

It  was  decided  that  the  marriage  should  take  place  in 
the  coming  spring;  and  that  then  the  house  at  Cross 
Corners  should  become  the  home  of  Mr.  Armstrong  and 
Faith;  and  that  Mr.  Gartney  should  remove,  perma- 
nently, to  New  York,  where  he  had  already  engaged  in 
some  incidental  and.  preliminary  business  transactions. 
Hi  a  purpose  was  to  fix  himself  there,  as  a  shipping  and 
commission  merchant,  concerning  himself,  for  a  large 
proportion,  with  California  trade. 


308  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

The  house  in  Mishaumok  had  been  rented  for  a  term 
of  five  years.  One  change  prepares  the  way  for  another. 
Things  never  go  back  precisely  to  what  they  were  be- 
fore. 

Mr.  Armstrong,  after  serious  thought,  had  come  to 
this  conclusion  of  accepting  the  invitation  of  the  Old 
Parish  at  Kinnicutt  to  remain  with  it  as  its  pastor,  be- 
cause the  place  itself  had  become  endeared  to  him  for  its 
associations ;  because,  also,  it  was  Faith's  home,  which 
she  had  learned  to  love  and  cling  to;  because  she,  too, 
had  a  work  here,  in  assisting  Glory  to  fulfil  the  terms  of 
her  aunt's  bequest ;  and  because,  country  parish  though 
it  was,  and  a  limited  sphere,  as  it  might  seem,  for  his 
means  and  talents,  he  saw  the  way  here,  not  only  to 
accomplish  much  direct  good  in  the  way  of  his  profes- 
sion, but  as  well  for  a  wider  exercise  of  power  through 
the  channel  of  authorship;  for  which  a  more  onerous 
pastoral  charge  would  not  have  left  him  the  needful 
quiet  or  leisure. 

So,  with  these  comings  and  goings,  these  happy  plans, 
and  helpings  and  on-lookings,  the  late  autumn  weeks 
merged  in  winter,  and  days  slipped  almost  imperceptibly 
by,  and  Christmas  came. 

Three  little  orphan  girls  had  been  welcomed  into 
"  Miss  Henderson's  Home."  And  oiily  one  of  them  had 
hair  that  would  curl.  But  Glory  gave  the  other  two 
an  extra  kiss  each,  every  morning. 


FAITH  GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 


309 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

CHBISTMAS-TIDE. 

"  Throguh  suffering  and  through  sorrow  thou  hast  part, 
To  show  us  what  a  woman  true  may  be ; 
They  have  not  taken  sympathy  from  thee, 
Nor  made  thee  any  other  than  thou  wast ; 

Nor  hath  thy  knowledge  of  adversity 
Robbed  thee  of  any  faith  in  happiness, 
But  rather  cleared  thine  inner  eye  to  see 
How  many  simple  ways  there  are  to  bless." 

LOWELL. 

"  And  if  any  painter  drew  her, 
He  would  paint  her  unaware, 
With  a  halo  round  the  hair." 

MRS.  BROWNI.VO. 

THERE  were  dark  portents  abroad.  Rumors,  and 
threats,  and  prognostications  of  fear  and  strife  teemed 
in  the  columns  of  each  day's  sheet  of  news,  and  pulsed 
wildly  along  the  electric  nerves  of  the  land;  and  men 
looked  out,  as  into  a  coming  tempest,  that  blackened  all 
the  southerly  sky  with  wrath ;  and  only  that  the  horror 
was  too  great  to  be  believed  in,  they  could  not  have 
eaten  and  drunken,  and  bought  and  sold,  and  planted 
and  builded,  as  they  did,  after  the  age-old  manner  of 
man,  in  these  days  before  the  flood  that  was  to  come. 

Civil  war,  like  a  vulture  of  hell,  was  swooping  down 
from  the  foul  fastness  of  iniquity  that  had  hatched  her 
in  its  high  places,  and  that  reared  itself,  audaciously,  in 
the  very  face  of  Heaven. 


310  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

And  a  voice,  as  of  a  mighty  angel,  sounded  "  Wo ! 
wo !  wo !  to  the  inhabiters  of  earth !  " 

And  still  men  but  half  heard  and  comprehended ;  and 
still  they  slept  and  rose,  and  wrought  on,  each  in  his 
own  work,  and  planned  for  the  morrow,  and  for  the  days 
that  were  to  be. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all,  came  the  blessed  Christmas 
tide.  Yes !  even  into  this  world  that  has  rolled  its  seeth- 
ing burden  of  sin  and  pain  and  shame  and  conflict 
along  the  listening  depths  through  waiting  cycles  of 
God's  eternity,  was  Christ  once  born ! 

And  little  children,  of  whom  is  the  kingdom,  in  their 
simple  faith  and  holy  unconsciousness,  were  looking  for 
the  Christmas  good,  and  wondering  only  what  the  com- 
ing joy  should  be. 

The  shops  and  streets  of  Hishaumok  were  filled  with 
busy  throngs.  People  forgot,  for  a  day,  the  fissure  that 
had  just  opened,  away  there  in  the  far  South-land,  and 
the  fierce  flames  that  shot  up,  threatening,  from  the 
abyss.  What  mattered  the  mass  meetings,  and  the 
shouts,  and  the  guns,  along  those  shores  of  the  Mexican 
Gulf?  To-night  would  be  Christmas  Eve;  and  there 
were  thousands  of  little  stockings  waiting  to  be  hung  by 
happy  firesides,  and  they  must  all  be  filled  for  the  mor- 
row. 

So  the  shops  and  streets  were  crowded,  and  people 
with  arms  full  of  holiday  parcels  jostled  each  other  at 
every  corner.  It  wasn't  like  the  common  days,  when 
they  passed  by,  self-absorbed,  unknowing  and  unheed- 
ing what  might  be  each  other's  object  or  errand.  There 
was  a  common  business  to  be  done  to-day.  Everybody 
knew  what  everybody  else  was  after ;  and  the  lady  whose 
carriage  waited  at  the  door,  half  filled  with  costly  pur- 
chases, stood  elbow  to  elbow  at  the  gay  counter  with  one 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

whose  face  was  pale  and  wearied  with  the  many  thoughts 
and  steps  it  cost  her  to  make  the  three  dollars  in  her 
pocket,  which  she  dared  not  break  till  she  had  quite 
settled  what  every  cent  should  go  for,  buy  something 
for  each  one  of  five. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  the  hurry  and  the  crowd  in- 
creased. Grave,  dignified  men  might  now  and  then  be 
seen  with  queer  packages  in  their  arms,  held  awkwardly ; 
for  the  errand-boys  in  the  shops  were  overbusied  and  un- 
certain ;  and  some  things  must  be  transported  with 
especial  care,  and  nothing,  to-night,  must  fail  of  its  des- 
tination. Dolls'  arms  and  legs  betrayed  themselves 
through  their  long  swathings,  and  here  and  there  the 
nose  or  tail  of  a  painted  horse  had  pricked  its  way  out 
of  its  paper  wrapping;  coat  pockets  hung  heavy  with 
sweet  burdens;  the  neat,  square  parcels,  fastened  with 
colored  twine,  told  of  booksellers'  treasures;  all  along 
the  shifting  sea  of  faces  you  read  one  gleam  of  pleased 
anticipation;  coins  had  melted  into  smiles;  the  soul  of 
Christmas  was  abroad ;  the  "  better  to  give  than  to 
receive  "  was  the  keynote  of  the  kindly  carnival. 

There  are  odd  encounters  in  this  world-tumble  that 
we  live  in.  In  the  early  afternoon,  at  one  of  the  bright 
show-cases,  filled  within  and  heaped  without  with 
toys,  two  women  met, — as  strangers  are  always  meet- 
ing, with  involuntary  touch  and  glance, — borne  together 
in  a  crowd, — atoms  impinging  for  an  instant,  never  to 
approach  again,  perhaps,  in  all  the  coming  combinations 
of  time. 

These  two  women,  though,  had  met  before. 

One,  sharp,  eager, — with  a  stylish-shabby  air  of 
dress  about  her,  and  the  look  of  pretence  that  shopmen 
know,  as  she  handled  and  asked  prices,  where  she  had  no 
actual  thought  of  buying, — holding  by  the  hand  a  child 


312  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

of  six,  who  dragged  and  teased,  and  got  an  occasional 
word  that  crushed  him  into  momentary  silence,  but  who, 
tired  with  the  sights  and  the  Christmas  shopping,  had 
nothing  for  it  but  to  begin  to  drag  and  tease  again; 
another,  with  bright,  happy,  earnest  eyes  and  flushing 
cheeks,  and  hair  rolled  back  in  a  golden  wealth  beneath 
her  plain  straw  bonnet;  bonnet,  and  dress,  and  all,  of 
simple  black ;  these  two  came  face  to  face. 

The  shabby  woman  with  a  sharp  look  recognized 
nothing.  Glory  McWhirk  knew  Mrs.  Grubbling,  and 
the  child  of  six  that  had  been  the  Grubbling  baby. 

All  at  once,  she  had  him  in  her  arms ;  and  as  if  not 
a  moment  had  gone  by  since  she  held  him  so  in  the 
little,  dark,  upper  entry  in  Budd  Street,  where  he  had 
toddled  to  her  in  his  night-gown,  for  her  grieved  fare- 
well, was  hugging  and  kissing  him,  with  the  old,  forget- 
ting and  forgiving  love. 

Mrs.  Grubbling  looked  on  in  petrified  amaze.  Glory 
had  transferred  a  fragrant  white  paper  parcel  from  her 
pocket  to  the  child's  hands,  and  had  thrust  upon  that  a 
gay  tin  horse  from  the  counter,  before  it  occurred  to  her 
that  the  mother  might,  possibly,  neither  remember  nor 
approve. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,  for  the  liberty ;  and  it's 
very  likely  you  don't  know  me.  I'm  Glory  McWhirk, 
that  used  to  live  with  you,  and  mind  the  baby." 

And  then  she  seized  once  more  the  big  boy  in  whom 
the  baby  of  olden  time  was  merged,  and  well-night  lost, 
and  who  had  already  plunged  his  fingers  into  the  can- 
diee,  and  was  satisfying  himself  as  to  the  perfect  pro- 
priety of  all  that  had  occurred,  by  the  sure  recognition 
of  peppermint-stick, — and  had  the  hugs  and  kisses  all 
over  again,  without  ever  waiting  for  a  word  of  license. 

Mrs,  Grubbling  was  not  in  the  least  offended.    There 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

was  as  air  of  high  respectability  in  the  public  avowal 
of  this  very  nice-looking  young  woman  that  she  had 
once  "  lived  with  her  and  tended  baby."  Also,  in  the 
fervor  of  attachment  that  evinced  itself  in  these  em- 
braces. It  spoke  well,  surely,  for  the  employer.  There 
are  those  who  can  take  a  credit  to  themselves,  even  from 
their  failure  to  thwart  and  spoil  a  nobleness  that  has 
overlived  their  meanness.  As  they  might,  in  their 
Pharisaism,  from  the  very  sunlight  of  God,  whose 
spontaneous  outflow  no  evil  of  man  can  quench  or  turn 
aside.  The  earth  rolls  on,  and  is  not  yet  consumed. 
The  blue  sky  is  set  safely  above  its  smirch.  No  track 
of  its  sin  lies  foul  across  the  firmament.  Therefore, 
impotent  sinners,  rejoice  in  the  day-shine,  and  think 
well  of  yourselves  that  heaven  still  smiles ! 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Glory,"  said  Mrs. 
Grubbling,  patronizingly ;  "  and  I  hope  you've  been 
doing  well  since  you  went  away  from  me."  As  if  she 
had  been  doing  so  especially  well  before,  that  there 
might  easily  be  a  doubt  as  to  whether  going  farther  had 
not  been  faring  worse.  I  have  no  question  that  Mrs. 
Grubbling  fancied,  at  the  moment,  that  the  foundation 
of  all  the  simple  content  and  quiet  prosperity  that  evi- 
denced themselves  at  present  in  the  person  of  her  former 
handmaid,  had  been  laid  in  Budd  Street. 

"  And  where  are  you  living  now  ?  "  proceeded  she,  as 
Glory  resigned  the  boy  to  his  mint-stick,  and  was  say- 
ing good-bye. 

"  Out  in  Kinnicutt,  ma'am ;  at  Miss  Henderson's ; 
where  I  have  been  ever  since." 

She  never  thought  of  triumphing.  She  never  dreamed 
of  what  it  would  be  to  electrify  her  former  mistress  with 
the  announcement  that  she  whom  she  had  since  served 
had  died,  and  left  her,  Glory  McWhirk,  the  life-use  of 


314:  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

more  than  half  her  estate.  That  she  dwelt  now,  as 
proprietress,  where  she  had  been  a  servant.  Her  hum- 
bleness and  her  faithfulness  were  so  entire  that  she 
never  thought  of  herself  as  occupying,  in  the  eyes  of 
others,  such  position.  She  was  Miss  Henderson's  hand- 
maiden, still;  doing  her  behest,  simply,  as  if  she  had 
but  left  her  there  in  keeping,  while  she  went  a  journey. 

So  she  bade  good-bye,  and  courtesied  to  Mrs.  Grub- 
bling  and  gathered  up  her  little  parcels,  and  went  out. 
Fortunately.  Mrs.  Grubbling  wa"s  half-stunned,  as  it 
was.  It  is  impossible  to  tell  what  might  have  resulted, 
had  she  then  and  there  been  made  cognizant  of  more. 
Not  to  the  shorn  lamb,  alone,  always,  are  sharp  winds 
beneficently  tempered.  There  is  a  mercy,  also,  to  the 
miserable  wolf. 

Glory  had  one  trouble,  to-day,  that  hindered  her  pure, 
free  and  utter  enjoyment  of  what  she  had  to  do. 

All  day  she  had  seen,  here  and  there  along  the  street, 
little  forlorn  and  ragged  ones,  straying  about  aimlessly, 
as  if  by  any  chance,  a  scrap  of  Christmas  cheer  might 
even  fall  to  them,  if  only  they  kept  out  in  the  midst  of  it. 
There  was  a  distant  wonder  in  th«ir  faces,  as  they  met 
the  buyers  among  the  shops,  and  glanced  at  the  fair, 
fresh  burdens  they  carried;  and  around  the  confection- 
ers' windows  they  would  cluster,  sometimes,  two  or 
three  together,  and  look;  as  if  one  sense  could  take  in 
what  was  denied  so  to  another.  She  knew  so  well  what 
the  feeling  of  it  was !  To  see  the  good  times  going  on, 
and  not  be  in  'em !  She  longed  so  to  gather  them  all  to 
herself,  and  take  them  home,  and  make  a  Christmas  for 
them! 

She  could  only  drop  the  pennies  that  came  to  her  in 
change  loose  into  her  pocket,  and  give  them,  one  by  one, 
along  the  wayside.  And  she  more  than  once  offered  a 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

bright  quarter,  (it  was  in  the  days  when  quarters  yet 
were,  reader!)  when  she  might  have  counted  out  the 
sum  in  lesser  bits,  that  so  the  pocket  should  be  kept  sup- 
plied the  longer. 

Down  by  the Railway  Station,  the  streets  were 

dim,  and  dirty,  and  cheerless.  Inside,  the  passengers 
gathered  about  the  stove,  where  the  red  coals  gleamed 
cheerful  in  the  already  gathering  dusk  of  the  winter 
afternoon.  A  !New  York  train  was  going  out;  and  all 
sorts  of  people, — from  the  well-to-do,  portly  gentleman 
of  business,  with  his  good  coat  buttoned  comfortably 
to  his  chin,  his  tickets  bought,  his  wallet  lined  with 
bank-notes  for  his  journey,  and  secretly  stowed  beyond 
the  reach  (if  there  be  such  a  thing)  of  pick-pockets, 
and  the  Mishaumok  Journal,  Evening  Edition,  damp  • 
from  the  press,  unfolded  in  his  fingers,  to  the  care-for- 
naught,  dare-devil  little  news-boy  who  had  sold  it  to  him, 
and  who  now  saunters  off,  varying  his  monotonous  cry 
with — 

"  Jour-nal,  gentlemen !  Eve-nin'  'dition !  Georgy 
out!" 

("  What's  that  ?  "  exclaims  an  inconsiderate.) 

"  Georgy  out !  (Little  brother  o'  mine.  Seen  him 
anywhere  ?)  Eve-nin'  'dition !  Jour-nal,  gentleman !  " 
and  the  shivering  little  candy-girl,  threading  her  way 
with  a  silent  imploringness  among  the  throng, — were 
bustling  up  and  down,  in  waiting-rooms,  and  on  the  plat- 
forms, till  one  would  think,  assuredly,  that  the  centre  of 
all  the  world's  activity,  at  this  moment,  lay  here;  and 
that  everybody  not  going  in  this  particular  express  train 
to  New  York,  must  be  utterly  devoid  of  any  aim  or 
object  in  life,  whatever. 

So  we  do,  always,  carry  our  centre  about  with  us. 


316  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

A  little  while  ago  all  the  world  was  buying  dolls  and 
tin  horses.  Horizons  shift  and  ring  themselves  about  us, 
and  we,  ourselves,  stand  always  in  the  middle. 

By-and-by,  however,  the  last  call  was  heard. 

"  Passengers  for  New  York !  Train  ready !  All 
aboard !  " 

And  with  the  ringing  of  the  bell,  and  the  mighty 
gasping  of  the  impatient  engine,  and  a  scuffle  and 
scurry  of  a  minute,  in  which  carpet-bags  and  babies 
were  gathered  up  and  shouldered  indiscriminately,  the 
rooms  and  the  platforms  were  suddenly  cleared  of  all 
but  a  few  stragglers,  and  half  a  dozen  women  with 
Christmas  bundles,  who  sat  waiting  for  trains  to  way 
stations. 

Two  little  pinched  faces,  purple  with  the  bitter  cold, 
looked  in  at  the  door. 

"  It's  good  and  warm  in  there.    Less'  go !  " 

And  the  older  drew  the  younger  into  the  room,  to- 
ward the  glowing  stove. 

They  looked  as  if  they  had  been  wandering  about  in 
the  dreary  streets  till  the  chill  had  touched  their  very 
bones.  The  larger  of  the  two,  a  boy, — torn  hopelessly 
as  to  his  trowsers,  dilapidated  to  the  last  degree  as  to 
his  fragment  of  a  hat, — knees' and  elbows  making  their 
way  out  into  the  world  with  the  faintest  shadow  of  op- 
position,— had,  perhaps  from  this,  a  certain  look  of 
pushing  knowingness  that  set  itself,  by  the  obscure  and 
inevitable  law  of  compensation,  over  against  the  gigan- 
tic antagonism  of  things  he  found  himself  born  into ;  and 
you  knew,  as  you  looked  at  him,  that  he  would,  somehow, 
sooner  or  later,  make  his  small  dint  against  the  great 
dead  wall  of  society  that  loomed  itself  in  his  way; 
whether  society  or  he  should  get  the  worst  of  it,  might 
happen  as  it  would. 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

The  younger  was  a  little  girl.  A  flower  thrown  down 
in  the  dirt.  A  jewel  encrusted  with  mean  earth.  Little 
feet  in  enormous  coarse  shoes,  cracked  and  trodden 
down ;  bare  arms  trying  to  hide  themselves  under  a  bit 
of  old  woolen  shawls;  hair  tangled  beneath  a  squalid 
hood ;  out  amidst  all,  a  face  of  beauty  that  peeped,  like 
an  unconscious  draft  of  God's  own  signing,  upon  hu- 
manity. Was  there  none  to  acknowledge  it  ? 

An  official  came  through  the  waiting-room. 

The  boy  showed  a  slink  in  his  eyes,  like  one  used  to 
shoving  and  rebuff,  and  to  getting  off,  round  corners. 
The  girl  stood,  innocent  and  unheeding. 

"  There !  out  with  you !    No  vagrums  here !  " 

Of  course,  they  couldn't  have  all  Queer  Street  in 
their  waiting-rooms,  these  railway  people ;  and  the  man's 
words  were  rougher  than  his  voice.  But  these  were  two 
children,  who  wanted  cherishing! 

The  slink  in  the  boy's  eye  worked  down,  and  became 
a  sneak  and  a  shuffle,  toward  the  door.  The  girl  was 
following. 

"  Stop !  "  called  a  woman's  voice,  sharp  and  authori- 
tative. "  Don't  you  stir  a  single  step  either  of  you, 
till  you  get  warm!  If  there  isn't  any  other  way  to 
fix  it,  I'll  buy  you  both  a  ticket  somewhere  and  then 
you'll  be  passengers." 

Tt  was  a  tall,  thin,  hoopless  woman,  with  a  carpet-bag, 
a  plaid  shawl,  and  an  umbrella;  and  a  bonnet  that, 
since  other  bonnets  had  begun  to  poke,  looked  like  a 
chaise  top  flattened  back  at  the  first  spring.  In  a  word, 
Mehitable  Sampson. 

Something  twitched  at  the  corners  of  the  man's 
mouth  as  he  glanced  round  at  this  sudden  and  singular 
champion.  Something  may  have  twitched  under  his 
comfortable  waist-coat,  also.  At  any  rate,  he  passed  on ; 


318  FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

and  the  children, — the  brief  battledore  over  in  which 
they  had  been  the  shuttle-cocks, — crept  back,  compliant 
with  the  second  order,  much  amazed,  toward  the  stove. 

Miss  Sampson  began  to  interrogate. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  your  little  sister  home  ?  " 

"  This  one  ain't  my  sister."  Children  always  set 
people  right  before  they  answer  queries. 

"  Well, — whoever  she  is,  then.  Why  don't  you  both 
go  home  ? " 

"  Cause  its  cold  there,  too.  And  we  was  sent  to  find 
sticks." 

"  If  she  isn't  your  sister,  who  does  she  belong  to  ? " 

"  She  don't  belong  to  nobody.  She  lived  upstairs, 
and  her  mother  died,  and  she  came  down  to  us.  But 
she's  goin'  to  be  took  away.  Mother's  got  five  of  us, 
now.  She's  goin'  to  the  poor-house.  She's  a  regular  lit- 
tle brick,  though ;  ain't  yer,  Jo  ?  " 

The  pretty,  childish  lips  that  had  begun  to  grow  red 
and  life-like  again,  parted,  and  showed  little  rows  of 
milk-teeth,  like  white  shells.  The  blue  eyes  and  the 
baby  smile  went  up,  confidingly,  to  the  young  raga- 
mufiiln's  face.  There  had  been  kindness  here.  The  boy 
had  taken  to  Jo,  it  seemed;  and  was  benevolently 
evincing  it,  in  the  best  way  he  could,  by  teaching  her 
good-natured  slang. 

"  Yes ;  I'm  a  little  brick,"  she  lisped. 

Miss  Sampson's  keen  eyes  went  from  one  to  the 
other,  resting  last  and  long  on  Jo. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  she  said,  deliberately,  "  if 
you  was  Number  Four !  " 

"  Whereabouts  do  you  live  ?  "  suddenly,  to  the  boy. 

"  Three  doors  round  the  corner.  'Taint  number  four, 
though.  It's  ninety-three." 

"  What's  ymir  name  2  " 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD. 

"  Tim  Rafferty." 

•'  Tim  Rafferty !  Did  anybody  ever  trust  you  with  a 
carpet-bag  ?  " 

"I've  carried  'em  up.  But  then  they  mostly  goes 
along,  and  looks  sharp." 

i(  Well,  now  I'm  going  to  leave  you  here,  with  this 
one.  If  anybody  speaks  to  you,  say  you  was  left  in 
charge.  Don't  stir  till  I  come  back.  And— look  here! 
if  you  see  a  young  woman  come  in,  with  bright,  wavy 
hair,  and  a  black  gown  and  bonnet,  and  if  she  comes  and 
speaks  to  you,  as  most  likely  she  will,  tell  her  I  said  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  this  was  Number  Four !  " 

And  Nurse  Sampson  went  out  into  the  street. 

When  she  came  back,  the  children  sat  there,  still ;  and 
Glory  McWhirk  was  with  them. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I'd  any  business  to  meddle ;  and  I 
haven't  made  any  promises;  but  I've  found  out  that 
you  can  do  as  you  choose  about  it,  and  welcome.  And  I 
couldn't  help  thinking  you  might  like  to  have  this  one 
for  Number  Four." 

Glory  had  already  nestled  the  poor,  tattered  child 
close  to  her,  and  given  her  a  cake  to  eat  from  the  re- 
freshment counter. 

Tim  Rafferty  delivered  up  the  carpet-bag,  in  proud 
integrity.  To  be  sure,  there  were  half  a  dozen  people 
in  the  room  who  had  witnessed  its  intrustment  to  his 
hands ;  but  I  think  he  would  have  waited  there,  all  the 
same,  had  the  coast  been  clear. 

Miss  Sampson  gave  him  ten  cents,  and  recounted  to 
Glory  what  she  had  learned  at  number  ninety-three. 

"  She's  a  strange  child,  left  on  their  hands ;  and 
they're  as  poor  as  death.  They  were  going  to  give  her 
in  charge  to  the  authorities.  The  woman  said  she 
couldn't  feed  her  another  day.  That's  about  the  whole 


320  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

ef  it.  If  Tim  don't  bring  her  back,  they'll  know  where 
she  is,  and  be  thankful." 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  home  with  me,  and  hang  up 
your  stocking,  and  have  a  Christmas  ?  " 

"  My  golly !  "  ejaculated  Tim,  staring. 

The  little  one  smiled  shyly,  and  was  mute.  She 
Didn't  know  what  Christmas  was.  She  had  been  cold, 
and  she  was  warm,  and  her  mouth  and  hands  were  filled 
with  sweet  cake.  And  there  were  pleasant  words  in 
her  ears.  That  was  all  she  knew.  As  much  as  we  shall 
comprehend  at  first,  perhaps,  when  the  angels  take  us 
up  out  of  the  earth-cold,  and  give  us  the  first  morsel  of 
heavenly  good  to  stay  our  cravings. 

This  was  how  it  ended.  Tim  had  a  paper  bag  of 
apples  and  cakes,  with  some  sugar  pigs  and  pussy-cats 
put  in  at  the  top,  and  a  pair  of  warm  stockings  out  of 
Glory's  bag,  to  carry  home,  for  himself;  and  he  was  to 
say  that  the  lady  who  came  to  see  his  mother  had  taken 
Jo  away  into  the  country.  To  Miss  Henderson's,  at 
Kinnicutt.  Glory  wrote  these  names  upon  a  paper. 
Tim  was  to  be  a  good  boy,  and  some  day  they  would 
come  and  see  him  again. 

Then  Nurse  Sampson's  plaid  shawl  was  wrapped 
about  little  Jo,  and  pinned  close  over  her  rags  to  keep 
out  the  cold  of  Christmas  Eve;  and  the  bell  rang 
presently ;  and  she  was  taken  out  into  the  bright,  warm 
car,  and  tucked  up  in  a  corner,  where  she  slept  all  the 
hour  that  they  were  steaming  over  the  road. 

And  so  these  three  went  out  to  Kinnicutt  to  keep 
Christmas  at  the  Old  House. 

So  Glory  carried  home  the  Christ-gift  that  had  come 
to  her. 

Tim  went  back,  alone,  to  number  ninety-three.  He 
had  his  bag  of  good  things,  and  his  warm  stockings,  and 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  321 

his  wonderful  story  to  tell.  And  there  was  more  supper 
and  breakfast  for  five  than  there  would  have  been  for 
six.  Nevertheless,  somehow,  he  missed  the  "  little 
brick." 

Out  at  Cross  Corners,  Miss  Henderson's  Home  was  all 
aglow.  The  long  kitchen,  which,  by  the  outgrowth  of 
the  house  for  generations,  had  come  to  be  a  central : 
room,  was  flooded  with  the  clear  blaze  of  a  great  pine 
knot,  that  crackled  in  the  chimney;  and  open  doors 
showed  neat  adjoining  rooms,  in  and  out  which  the 
gleams  and  shadows  played,  making  a  suggestive  panto- 
mine  of  hide  and  seek.  It  was  a  grand  old  place  for 
Christmas  games !  And  three  little  bright-faced  girls  sat 
round  the  knee  of  a  tidy,  cheery  old  woman,  who  told 
them,  in  a  quaint  Irish  brogue,  the  story  of  the  "  little 
rid  hin,"  that  was  caught  by  the  fox,  and  got  away, 
again,  safe,  to  her  own  little  house  in  the  woods,  where 
she  "  lived  happy  iver  afther,  an'  got  a  fine  little  brood 
of  chickens  to  live  wid  her ;  an'  pit  'em  all  intill  warrum 
stockings  and  shoes,  an'  round-o-caliker  gowns." 

And  they  carped  at  no  discrepancies  or  improbabili- 
ties; but  seized  all  eagerly,  and  fused  it  in  their  quick 
imaginations  to  one  beautiful  meaning;  which,  whether 
it  were  of  chicken-comfort,  overbrooded  with  warm 
love,  or  of  a  clothed,  contented  childhood,  in  safe  shelter, 
mattered  not  a  bit. 

Into  this  warm,  blithe  scene  came  Glory,  just  as  the 
fable  was  ended  for  the  fourth  time,  bringing  the  last 
little  chick,  flushed  and  rosy  from  a  bath;  born  into 
beauty,  like  Venus  from  the  sea ;  her  fair  hair,  combed 
and  glossy,  hanging  about  her  neck  in  curls;  and 
wrapped,  not  in  a  "  round-o-caliker,"  but  in  a  scarlet 
flannel  night-gown,  comfortable  and  gay.  Then  they 
had  bowls  of  bread  and  milk,  and  gingerbread,  and  ate 
21 


322  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

their  suppers  by  the  fire.  And  then  Glory  told  them  the 
old  story  of  Santa  Glaus;  and  how,  if  they  hung  their 
stockings  by  the  chimney,  there  was  no  knowing  what 
they  mightn't  find  in  them  to-morrow. 

"  Only,"  she  said,  "  whatever  it  is,  and  whoever  He 
sends  it  by,  it  all  comes  from  the  good  Lord,  first  of 
all." 

And  then,  the  two  white  beds  in  the  two  bed-rooms 
close  by  held  four  little  happy  bodies,  whose  souls  were 
given  into  God's  keeping  till  his  Christmas  dawn  should 
come,  in  the  old,  holy  rhyme,  said  after  Glory. 

By-and-by,  Faith  and  Mr.  Armstrong  and  Miss  Samp- 
son came  over  from  the  Corner  House,  with  parcels  from 
Kriss  Kringle. 

And  now  there  was  a  gladsome  time  for  all;  but 
chiefly,  for  Glory. 

What  unpacking  and  refolding  in  separate  papers! 
Every  sugar  pig,  and  dog,  and  pussy-cat  must  be  in  a 
distinct  wrapping,  that  so  the  children  might  be  a  long 
time  finding  out  all  that  Santa  Clans  had  brought  them. 
What  stuffing,  and  tying,  and  pinning,  inside,  and  out- 
side, and  over  the  little  red  woolen  legs  that  hung,  ex- 
pectant, above  the  big,  open  chimney!  How  Glory 
laughed,  and  sorted,  and  tied  and  made  errands  for 
string  and  pins,  and  seized  the  opportunity  for  brush- 
ing away  great  tears  of  love,  and  joy,  and  thankfulness, 
that  would  keep  coming  into  her  eyes !  And  then,  when 
all  was  done,  and  she  and  Faith  came  back  from  a  little 
flitting  into  the  bed-rooms,  and  a  hovering  look  over  the 
wee,  peaceful,  sleeping  faces  there,  and  they  all  stood, 
for  a  minute,  surveying  the  goodly  fullness  of  small  de- 
lights stored  up  and  waiting  for  the  morrow, — how 
she  turned  suddenly,  and  stretched  her  hands  out  toward 
the  kind  friends  who  had  helped  and  sympathized  in  all, 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  323 

<md  said,  with  a  quick  overflow  of  feeling,  that  could 
find  only  the  old  words  wherein  to  utter  herself, — 

"  Such  a  time  as  this !  Such  a  beautiful  time !  And 
to  think  that  I  should  be  in  it !  " 

Miss  Henderson's  will  was  fulfilled. 

A  happy,  young  life  had  gathered  again  about  the 
ancient  hearthstone  that  had  seen  two  hundred  years 
of  human  change.  i 

The  Old  House,  wherefrom  the  last  of  a  long  line 
had  passed  on  into  the  Everlasting  Mansions,  had  be- 
come God's  heritage. 

JNiurse  Sampson  spent  her  Christmas  with  the  Gart- 
neys. 

They  must  have  her  again,  they  told  her,  at  parting, 
for  the  wedding;  which  would  be  in  May. 

"  I  may  be  a  thousand  miles  off,  by  that  time.  But 
I  shall  think  of  you,  all  the  same,  wherever  I  am.  My 
work  is  coming.  I  feel  it.  There's  a  smell  of  blood  and 
death  in  the  air ;  and  all  the  strong  hearts  and  hands'll 
be  wanted.  You'll  see  it." 

And  with  that,  she  was  gone. 


FAITH   GAKTNEY'tS    GiKLIiOOD. 


CHAPTER  XXXWt 

THE  WEDDING   JOUBNEY. 

"The  tree 

Sucks  kindlier  nurture  from  a  soil  enriched 
By  its  own  fallen  leaves  ;  and  man  is  made, 
In  heart  and  spirit,  from  deciduous  hopes 
And  things  that  seem  to  perish." 

"  A  stream  always  among  woods  or  in  the  sunshine  is  pleasant 
to  all  and  happy  in  itself.  Another,  forced  through  rocks,  and 
choked  with  sand,  under  ground,  cold,  dark,  comes  up  able  to 
heal  the  world." 

FROM  "SEED  GRAIN." 

"  SHALL  we  plan  a  wedding  journey,  Faith  ? " 

It  was  one  evening  in  April  that  Mr.  Armstrong 
said  this.  The  day  for  the  marriage  had  been  fixed  for 
the  first  week  in  May. 

Faith  had  something  of  the  bird-nature  about  her. 
Always,  at  this  moment  of  the  year,  a  restlessness,  akin 
to  that  which  prompts  the  flitting  of  winged  things  that 
track  the  sunshine  and  the  creeping  greenness  that  goes 
up  the  latitudes,  had  used  to  seize  her,  inwardly.  Some- 
thing that  came  with  the  swelling  of  tender  buds,  and 
the  springing  of  bright  blades,  and  the  first  music 
born  from  winter  silence,  had  prompted  her  with  the 
whisper, — "  Abroad !  abroad !  Out  into  the  beautiful 
earth!" 

It  had  been  one  of  her  unsatisfied  longings.  She  had 
thought,  what  a  joy  it  would  be  if  she  could  have  said, 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  325 

frankly,  "  Father,  mother !  let  us  have  a  pleasant 
journey  in  the  lovely  weather !  " 

And  now,  that  one  stood  at  her  side,  who  would  have 
taken  her  in  his  tender  guardianship  whithersoever  she 
might  choose, — now  that  there  was  no  need  for  hesitancy 
in  her  wish, — this  child,  who  had  never  been  beyond 
the  Hudson,  who  had  thought  longingly  of  Catskill,  and 
Trenton,  and  Niagara,  and  had  seen  them  only  in  her 
dreams, — felt,  inexplicably,  a  contrary  impulse,  that 
said  within  her,  "  Not  yet !  "  Somehow,  she  did  not 
care,  at  this  great  and  beautiful  hour  of  her  life,  to 
wander  away  into  strange  places.  Its  holy  happiness 
belonged  to  home. 

"  Not  now.  Unless  you  wish  it.  Not  on  purpose. 
Take  me  with  you,  sometime,  when,  perhaps,  you  would 
have  gone  alone.  Let  it  happen." 

"  We  will  just  begin  our  quiet  life,  then,  darling, 
shall  we?  The  life  that  is  to  be  our  real  blessedness, 
and  that  has  no  need  to  give  itself  a  holiday,  as  yet. 
And  let  the  work-days  and  the  holidays  be  portioned  as 
God  pleases  ?  " 

"  It  will  be  better, — happier,"  Faith  answered, 
timidly.  "  Besides,  with  all  this  fearful  tramping  to 
war  through  the  whole  land,  how  can  one  feel  like 

pleasure-journeying  ?  And  then "  there  was  another 

little  reason  that  peeped  out  last, — "  they  would  have 
been  so  sure  to  make  a  fuss  about  us  in  New  York !  " 

The  adjuncts  of  life  had  been  much  to  her  in  those 
restless  days  when  a  dark  doubt  lay  over  its  deep  reality. 
She  had  found  a  passing  cheer  and  relief  in  them,  then. 
Now,  she  was  so  sure,  so  quietly  content !  It  was  a  joy 
too  sacred  to  be  intermeddled  with. 

So  a  family  group,  only,  gathered  in  the  hill-side 
parlor,  on  the  fair  May  morning  wherein  good,  vener- 


326  FAITH   GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

able  Mr.  Holland  said  the  words  that  made  Faith  Gart- 
ney  and  Roger  Armstrong  one. 

It  was  all  still,  and  bright,  and  simple.  Glory,  stand- 
ing modestly  by  the  door,  said  within  herself,  "  it  was 
like  a  little  piece  of  heaven." 

And  afterward, — not  the  bride  and  groonn, — but 
father,  mother,  and  little  brother,  said  good-bye,  and 
went  away  upon  their  journey,  and  left  them  there.  In 
the  quaint,  pleasant  home,  that  was  theirs  now,  under 
the  budding  elms,  with  the  smile  of  the  May  promise 
pouring  in. 

And  Glory  made  a  May-day  at  the  Old  House,  by- 
and-by.  And  the  little  children  climbed  in  the  apple- 
branches,  and  perched  there,  singing,  like  the  birds. 

And  was  there  not  a  white-robed  presence  with  them, 
somehow,  watching  all  ? 

Nearly  three  months  had  gone.  The  hay  was  down. 
The  distillation  of  sweet  clover  was  in  all  the  air.  The 
little  ones  at  the  Old  House  were  out,  in  the  lengthening 
shadows  of  the  July  afternoon,  rolling  and  revelling  in 
the  perfumed,  elastic  heaps. 

Faith  Armstrong  stood  with  Glory,  in  the  porch-angle, 
looking  on. 

Calm  and  beautiful.  Only  the  joy  of  birds  and 
children  making  sound  and  stir  across  the  summer  still- 
ness. 

Away  over  the  broad  face  of  the  earth,  out  from  such 
peace  as  this,  might  there,  if  one  could  look, — unroll 
some  vision  of  horrible  contrast?  Were  blood,  and 
wrath,  and  groans,  and  thunderous  roar  of  guns  down 
there  under  that  far,  fair  horizon,  stooping  in  golden 
boauty  to  the  cool,  green  hills  ? 

Faith  walked  down  the  field-path,  presently,  to  meet 


FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD.  327 

her  husband,  coming  up.  He  held  in  his  hand  an  open 
paper,  that  he  had  brought,  just  now,  from  the  village. 

There  was  news. 

Rout,  horror,  confusion,  death,  dismay. 

The  field  of  Manassas  had  been  fought.  The  Union 
armies  were  falling  back,  in  disorder,  upon  Washing- 
ton. 

Breathlessly,  with  pale  faces,  and  with  hands  that 
grasped  each  other  in  a  deep  excitement  that  could  not 
come  to  speech,  they  read  those  columns,  together. 

Down  there,  on  those  Virginian  plains,  was  this. 

And  they  were  here,  in  quiet  safety,  among  the  clover 
blooms,  and  the  new-cut  hay.  Elsewhere,  men  were 
mown. 

"  Roger !  "  said  Faith,  when,  by-and-by,  they  had 
grown  calmer  over  the  fearful  tidings,  and  had  had 
Bible  words  of  peace  and  cheer  for  the  fevered  and 
bloody  rumors  of  men, — "  mightn't  we  take  our  wedding 
journey,  now  ? " 

All  the  bright,  early  summer,  in  those  first  months  of 
their  life  together,  they  had  been  finding  work  to  do. 
Work  they  had  hardly  dreamed  of  when  Faith  had 
feared  she  might  be  left  to  a  mere,  unworthy,  selfish 
rest  and  happiness. 

The  old  New  England  spirit  had  roused  itself, 
mightily,  in  the  little  country  town.  People  had  for- 
gotten their  own  needs,  and  the  provision  they  were 
wont  to  make,  at  this  time,  each  household  for  itself. 
Money  and  material,  and  quick,  willing  hands  were 
found,  and  a  good  work  went  on ;  and  kindling  zeal,  and 
noble  sympathies,  and  hearty  prayers  wove  themselves 
in,  with  toil  of  thread  and  needle,  to  homely  fabrics,  and 
embalmed,  with  every  finger-touch,  all  whereon  they 
labored. 


328  FAITH    GARTNEY'S    GIRLHOOD. 

They  had  remembered  the  old  struggle  wherein  their 
country  had  been  born.  They  were  glad  and  proud  to 
bear  their  burden  in  this  grander  one  wherein  she  was 
to  be  born  anew,  to  higher  life. 

Roger  Armstrong  and  his  wife  had  been  the  spring 
|  and  soul  and  centre  of  all. 

And  now,  Faith  said, — "  Roger !  mayn't  we  take  our 
wedding  journey  ?  " 

Not  for  a  bridle  holiday, — not  for  gay  change  and 
pleasure, — but  for  a  holy  purpose,  went  they  out  from 
home. 

Down  among  the  wounded,  and  war-smitten.  Bear- 
ing comfort  of  gifts,  and  helpful  words,  and  prayers. 
Doing  whatsoever  they  found  to  do,  now;  seeking  and 
learning  what  they  might  best  do,  hereafter.  Truly, 
God  left  them  not  without  a  work.  A  noble  ministry 
lay  ready  for  them,  at  this  very  threshold  of  their 
wedded  life. 

In  the  hospital  at  Georgetown,  they  found  Nurse 
Sampson. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  she  said.  "  I  knew  it  was  coming. 
And  the  first  gun  brought  me  down  here  to  be  ready. 
I've  been  out  to  Western  Virginia;  and  I  came  back 
here  when  we  got  the  news  of  this.  I  shall  follow  round, 
wherever  the  clouds  roll." 

In  Washington,  still  another  meeting  awaited  them. 

Paul  Rushleigh,  in  a  Captain's  uniform,  came,  one 
day,  to  the  table  of  their  hotel. 

The  first  gun  had  brought  him,  also,  where  he  could 
be  ready.  He  had  sailed  for  home,  with  his  father,  upon 
the  reception,  abroad,  of  the  tidings  of  the  fall  of 
Sumter. 

"Your  country  will  want  you,  now,  my  son,"  had 


FAITH   GARTNEY'S   GIRLHOOD.  329 

l)een  the  words  of  the  brave  and  loyal  gentleman.  And, 
like  another  Abraham,  he  had  set  his  face  toward  the 
mount  of  sacrifice. 

There  was  a  new  light  in  the  young  man's  eye.  A 
soul  awakened  there.  A  purpose,  better  than  any  plan 
or  hope  of  a  mere  happy  living  in  the  earth. 

He  met  his  old  friends  frankly,  generously;  and, 
seemingly,  without  a  pang.  They  were  all  one  now,  in 
the  sublime  labor  that,  in  their  several  spheres,  lay  out 
before  them. 

"  You  were  right,  Faith,"  he  said,  as  he  stood  with 
them,  and  spoke  briefly  of  the  past,  before  they  parted. 
"  I  shall  be  more  of  a  man,  than  if  I'd  had  my  first 
wish.  This  war  is  going  to  make  a  nation  of  men.  I'm 
free,  now,  to  give  my  heart  and  hand  to  my  country,  as 
long  as  she  needs  me.  And  by-and-by,  perhaps,  if  I 
live,  some  woman  may  love  me  with  the  sort  of  love  you 
have  for  your  husband.  I  feel  now,  how  surely  I  should 
have  come  to  be  dissatisfied  with  less.  God  bless  you 
both!" 

"God  bless  you,  Paul!" 


THE  END. 


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Six    to    Sixteen:    A  Story  for  Girls.    By  JULIANA 

HORATIA  EWINO.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"There  is  no  doubt  as  to  the  good  quality  and  attractiveness  of  'Six  to 
Sixteen.'  The  book  Is  one  which  would  enrich  any  girl's  book  shelf." — 
St.  James'  Gazette. 

The  Palace  Beautiful:    A  Story  for  Girls.    By  L.  T. 

MEADE.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated  price  8 1.00. 

"A  bright  and  interesting  story.  The  many  admirers  of  Mrs.  L.  T. 
Meade  In  this  country  will  be  delighted  with  the  'Palace  Beautiful'  for 
more  reasons  than  oiie.  It  la  a  charming  book  for  girls."— New  York 
Recorder. 

A  World  of  Girls:     The  Story  of  a  School.    By  L.  T. 

MEADE.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"One  of  those  wholesoire  stories  which  It  does  one  good  to  read.  It 
will  afford  pure  0.  light  to  numerous  readers.  This  book  should  be  ou 
every  girl's  book  shelf . "—Boston  Home  Journal. 

The  Lady  of  the  Forest:    A  Story  for  Girls.    By  L.  T. 

MEADK.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"This  story  Is  written  in  the  author's  well-known,  fresh  and  easy  style. 
All  girls  fond  of  reading  will  be  charmed  by  this  well-written  story.  It 
is  told  with  the  author's  customary  grace  and  spirit." — Boston  Times. 

At  the  Back  of  the  North  Wind.    By  GEORGE  MAC- 
DONALD.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"A  very  pretty  story,  with  much  of  the  freshness  and  vigor  of  Mr.  Mac- 
donald's  earlier  work.  .  .  .  It  is  a  sweet,  earnest,  and  wholesome  fairy 
story,  and  the  quaint  native  humor  is  delightful.  A  most  delightful  vol- 
ume for  young  readers."— Philadelphia  Times. 

The  Water  Babies:     A  Fairy  Tale  for   a   Land  Baby. 

By  CHARLES  KIXGSLEY.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"The  strength  of  his  work,  as  well  as  Its  peculiar  charms,  consist  in 
his  description  of  the  experiences  of  a  youth  with  life  under  water  in  the 
luxuriant  wealth  of  which  he  revels  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  poetical  na- 
ture."— New  York  Tribune. 

Our  Bessie.    By  KOSA  N.  CAEEY.     12mo,  cloth,  illus- 

Btrated,  price  $1.00. 

"One  of  the  most  entertaining  stories  of  the  season,  full  of  vigorous 
action,  and  strong  in  character-painting.  Elder  girls  will  be  charmed  with 
it,  and  adults  may  read  its  pages  with  profit." — The  Teachers'  Aid. 

Wild  Kitty.     A  Story  of  Middleton  School.     By  L.  T. 

MEADK.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Kitty  Is  a  true  heroine — warm-hearted,  self-sacrificing,  and,  as  all 
good  women  nowadays  are,  largely  touched  with  the  enthusiasm  of  huoan- 
Ity.  One  of  the  most  attractive  gift  books  of  the  season." — The  Academy. 

A  Young   Mutineer.     A   Story  for  Girls.     Bv   L.    T. 

MKADB.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"One  of  Mrs.  Meade's  charming  books  for  girls,  narrated  In  that  simple 
and  picturesque  style  which  marks  the  authoress  as  one  of  tb»  flrst  among 
writers  for  young  people." — The  Spectator. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  orice  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BURX,  68-68  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


A.  L.  HURT'S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.          3 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Sue  and  I.    By  MRS.  O'REILLY.    12mo,  cloth,  illus- 
trated, price  75  cents. 
"A  thoroughly  delightful  book,  full  of  sound  wisdom  as  well  as  fun."-' 

Athenaeum. 

The  Princess  and  the  Goblin.    A  Fairy  Story.    By 

GEORGE  MACDONALD.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"If  a  child  once  begins  this  book,  it  will  get  so  deeply  Interested  in 
!t  that  when  bedtime  comes  it  will  altogether  forget  the  moral,  and  will 
weary  Its  parents  with  importunities  for  Just  a  few  minutes  more  to  see 
bow  everything  ends." — Saturday  Review. 

Pythia's    Pupils:    A    Story    of    a    School.    By  EVA 

HAKTNER.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"This  story  of  the  doings  of  several  bright  school  girls  is  sure  to  interest 
girl  readers.  Among  many  good  stories  for  girls  this  is  undoubtedly  one 
of  the  very  best." — Teachers'  Aid. 

A  Story  of  a  Short  Life.    By  JULIANA  HORATIA  EWING. 

18mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"The  book  is  one  we  can  heartily  recommend,  for  It  is  not  only  bright 
and  interesting,  but  also  pure  and  healthy  in  tone  and  teaching." — 
Oouiier. 

The  Sleepy  Zing.    A  Fairy  Tale.    By  AUBREY  HOP- 
WOOD  AND  SKYMOUK  HICKS.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"Wonderful  as  the  adventures  of  Bluebell  are,  It  must  be  admitted  that 

they    are    very     naturally    worked    out    and    very     plausibly     presented. 

Altogether  this  is  an  excellent  story  for  girls." — Saturday  Review. 

Two    Little    Waifs.    By    MRS.  MOLESWORTH.     12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"Mrs.  Molesworth's  delightful  story  of  'Two  Little  Waifs'  will  charm 
all  the  small  people  who  find  it  in  their  stockings.  It  relates  the  ad- 
ventures of  two  lovable  English  children  lost  in  Paris,  and  isjust  wonder- 
ful enough  to  pleasantly  wring  the  youthful  heart." — New  York  Tribune. 

Adventures  in  Toyland.    By  EDITH  KING  HALL.    12mo, 

cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"The  author  Is  such  a  bright,  cheery  writer,  that  her  stories  are 
always  acceptable  to  all  who  are  not  confirmed  cynics,  and  her  record  of 
the-  adventures  is  as  entertaining  and  enjoyable  as  we  might  expect."— 
Boston  Courier. 

Adventures  in  Wallypug  Land.    By  G.  E.  FARROW. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"These  adventures  are  simply  inimitable,  and  will  delight  boys  and  girls 
>f  mature  age,  as  well  as  their  juniors.  No  happier  combination  of 
author  and  artist  than  this  volume  presents  could  be  found  to  furnish 
healthy  amusement  to  the  young  folks.  The  book  is  an  artistic  one  in 
every  sense." — Toronto  Mail. 

Fussbudget's  Folks.    A  Story  for  Young  Girls.    By 

ANNA  F.  BURNHAM.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Mrs.  Bnrnbam  has  a  rare  gift  for  composing  stories  for  children.  With 
a  light,  yet  forcible  touch,  she  paints  sweet  and  artless,  yet  natural  and 
strong,  characters. ' ' — Congregrationalist. ^^^ 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  tot 
publisher,  A.  L.  BUST,  62-68  Duane  Street.  New  York. 


4          A.  L.  BURT'S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Mixed  Pickles.    A  Story  for  Girls.    By  MRS.  E.  M. 

FIELD.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"It  Is,  in  its  way,  a  little  classic,  of  which  the  real  beauty  and  pathos 
can  hardly  be  appreciated  by  young  people.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say 
of  the  story  that  it  is  perfect  of  its  kind." — Good  Literature. 

Miss  Mouse  and  Her  Boys.     A  Story  for  Girls.    By 

MRS.  MOLESWORTH.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"Mrs.  Molesworth's  books  are  cheery,  wholesome,  and  particularly  well, 
adapted  to  refined  life.     It  is  safe  to  add  that  she  is  the  best  English  prose 
writer  for  children.     A  new   volume  from   Mrs.   Molesworth   is  always  a 
treat" — The  Beacon. 

Gilly  Flower.    A  Story   for   Girls.    By  the  author  of 

"  Miss  Toosey's  Mission."       12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Jill  is  a  little  guardian  angel  to  three  lively  brothers  who  tease  and 
play  with  her.  .  .  .  Her  unconscious  goodness  brine's  right  thoughts 
and  resolves  to  several  persons  who  come  into  contact  with  her.  There  is 
no  goodiuess  in  this  tale,  but  its  influence  is  of  the  best  kind." — Literary 
WorM. 

The  Chaplet  of  Pearls ;  or,  The  White  and  Black  Ribau- 

inout.    By  CHARLOTTE  M.  YONGB.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Full  of  spirit  and  life,  so  well  sustained  throughout  that  grown-np 
readers  may  enjoy  it  as  much  as  children.  It  is  one  of  the  best  books  of 
the  season." — Guardian. 

Naughty  Miss  Bunny:     Her  Tricks  and  Troubles.    By 

CLARA  MCLHOLLAND.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"The  naughty  child  is  positively  delightful.     Papas  should  not  omit  tha 
book  from  their  list  of  Juvenile  presents." — Land  and  Wator. 

Meg's    Friend.     By    ALICE    CORKRAN.     12mo,    cloth, 

illustrated,  price  81.00. 

"One  of  Miss  Corkran's  charming  books  for  girls,  narrated  In  that  simple 
and  picturesque  style  which  marks  the  authoress  as  one  of  the  first  among 
writers  for  young  people." — The  Spectator. 

Averil.     By  ROSA  N.  CAREY.     12mo,  cloth,  illustrated, 

price  $1.00. 

"A  charming  story  for  young  folks.  Averil  la  a  delightful  creature — 
piquant,  tender,  and  true — and  her  varying  fortunes  are  perfectly  real- 
istic. "—World. 

Aunt  Diana.    By  ROSA  N.  CAREY.     12mo,  cloth,  illus- 
trated, price  $1.00. 

"An  excellent  story,  the  Interest  being  sustained  from  first  to  last. 
Phis  is,  both  in  its  intention  and  the  way  the  story  is  told,  one  of  the 
best  books  of  Its  kind  which  has  come  before  us  this  year." — Saturday 
Review. 

Little  Sunshine's  Holiday:    A  Picture  from  Life.    By 

Miss  MULOCK.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"This  is  a  pretty  narrative  of  child  life,  describing  the  simple  doings 
and  sayings  of  a  very  charming  and   rather  precocious  child.     This  is  a 
delightful  book  for  young  people." — Gazette. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BURT,  52-68  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


A.  L.  BURIES  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE.          5 

BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Esther's  Charge.  A  Story  for  Girls.  By  ELLEN  EVERETT 

GREEN.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"...  This  la  a  story  showing  in  a  charming  way  how  one  little 
girl's  Jealousy  and  bad  temper  were  conquered;  one  of  the  best,  most 
suggestive  and  improving  of  tbe  Christmas  juveniles." — New  York  Trib- 
une. 

Fairy  land  of  Science.    By  ARABELLA  B.  BUCKLEY. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  {1.00. 

"We  can  highly  recommend  it;  not  only  for  the  valuable  informs  tier 
It  gives  on  the  special  subjects  to  which  it  is  dedicated,  but  also  as  a 
book  teaching  natural  sciences  in  an  interesting  way.  A  fascinating 
little  volume,  which  will  make  friends  in  every  household  in  which  there 
are  children." — Daily  News. 

Merle's  Crusade.    By   ROSA  N.  CAREY.     12mo,   cloth, 

illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Among  the  books  for  young  people  we  have  seen  nothing  more  unique 
than  this  book.  Like  all  of  this  author's  stories  it  will  please  young  read- 
ers by  the  very  attractive  and  charming  style  in  which  it  is  written."— 
Journal. 

Birdie:    A   Tale  of   Child  Life.    By  H.  L.  CHILDE- 

PEMBERTON.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

"The  story  is  qnalnt  and  simple,  but  there  is  a  freshness  about  it 
that  makes  one  hear  again  the  ringing  laugh  and  tbe  cheery  shout  of  chil- 
dren at  play  which  charmed  his  earlier  years." — New  York  Express. 

The  Days  of  Bruce:     A  Story  from  Scottish  History. 

By  GRACE  AOUILAH.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
"There  is  a  delightful  freshness,  sincerity  and  vivacity  about  all  of  Grace 
Agnilar's  stories  which  cannot  fail  to  win  the  Interest  and  admiration  of 
every  lover  of  good  reading." — Boston  Beacon. 

Three  Bright  Girls :     A  Story  of  Chance  and  Mischance. 

By  ANNIE  E.  ARMSTRONG.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 
"Tbe  charm  of  the  story  lies  in  the  cheery  helpfulness  of  spirit  devel- 
oped in  the  girls  by  their  changed  circumstances;  while  tbe  author  finds 
a  pleasant  ending  to  all  their  happy  makeshifts.  The  story  is  charmingly 
told,  and  tho  book  can  be  warmly  recommended  as  a  present  for  girls.  — 
Standard. 

Giannetta :    A  Girl's  Story  of  Herself.    By  ROSA  MUL- 

HOLLAND.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Extremely  well  told  and  full  of  interest.  Giannetta  is  a  true  heroine- 
warm-hearted,  self-sacrificing,  and,  as  all  good  women  nowadays  are, 
largely  touched  with  enthusiasm  of  humanity.  The  illustrations  are  un- 
nsually  good.  One  of  the  most  attractive  gift  books  of  the  season." — The 
Academy. 

Margery    Merton's    Girlhood.    By    ALICE    CORKRAH. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  (1.00. 

"The  experiences  of  an  orphan  girl  who  in  Infancy  IB  left  by  her 
father  to  the  care  of  an  elderly  aunt  residing  near  Pmris.  Tbe  accounts 
of  the  various  persons  who  have  an  after  Influence  on  the  story  are  sin- 
gularly vivid.  There  is  a  subtle  attraction  about  the  book  which  will  make 
it  a  great  favorite  with  thoughtful  girls." — Saturday  Review. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  HURT,  68-68  Duane  Street,  K«tw  York. 


6       A.  L.  BURT'S  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  PEOPLE. 
BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS. 

Under  False  Colors:     A  Story  from  Two  Girls'  Lives. 

By  SARAH  DOUDNBY.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1.00. 

"Sarah  Doudney  has  no  superior  as  a  writer  of  high-toned  stories — pure 
In  style,  original  In  conception,  and  with  skillfully  wrought  out  plots;  but 
we  have  seen  nothing  equal  in  dramatic  energy  to  this  book."— Christian 
Leader. 

Down  the  Snow  Stairs;  or,  From  Good-night  to  Good- 

moralng.  By  ALICE  CORKRA.V.  12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"Among  all  the  Christmas  volumes  which  the  year  has  brought  to  our 
table  this  one  stands  out  facile  prinoeps — a  gem  of  the  first  water,  bearing 
upon  every  one  of  its  pages  the  signet  mark  of  genius.  .  .  .  All  is  told 
with  such  simplicity  and  perfect  naturalness  that  the  dream  appears  to  be 
a  soJd  reality.  It  is  indeed  a  Little  Pilgrim's  Progress." — Christian 
Leader. 

The  Tapestry  Room:     A  Child's  Eomance.    By  MRS. 

MOLKSWORTH.    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 
"Mrs.    Molesworth   is   a   charming   painter  of   the   nature   and   ways  of 
children;     and    she    has    done    good    service    in    giving    us    this    charming 
juvenile  which  will  delight  the  young  people." — Athenzura,  London. 

Little  Miss  Peggy:     Only  a  Nursery  Story.     By  MBS. 

MOLES-WORTH.    12tno,  cloth,, illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

Mrs.  Molesworth's  children  are  finished  studies.  A  Joyous  earnest  spirit 
pervades  her  work,  and  her  sympathy  is  unbounded.  She  loves  them 
with  her  whole  heart,  while  she  lays  bare  their  little  minds,  and  expresses 
their  foibles,  their  faults,  their  virtues,  their  inward  straggles,  their 
conception  of  duty,  and  their  instinctive  knowledge  of  the  right  and  wrong 
of  things.  She  knows  their  characters,  she  understands  their  wants, 
and  she  desires  to  help  them. 

Polly:     A    New    Fashioned    Girl.     By   L.  T.  MEADE. 

12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  $1 .00. 

Few  authors  have  achieved  a  popularity  equal  to  Mrs.  Meade  as  a 
writer  of  stories  for  young  girls.  Her  characters  are  living  beings  of 
flesh  and  blood,  not  lay  figures  of  conventional  type.  Into  the  trials 
and  crosses,  and  everyday  experiences,  the  reader  enters  at  once  with  zest 
and  hearty  sympathy.  While  Mrs.  Meade  always  writes  with  a  high 
moral  purpose,  her  lessons  of  life,  purity  and  nobility  of  character  are 
rather  inculcated  by  example  than  intruded  as  sermons. 

One  of  a  Covey.     By  the    author  of  "Miss    Toosey*s 

Mission."    12mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cent*. 

"Full  of  spirit  and  life,  so  well  sustained  throughout  that  grown-np 
readers  may  enjoy  it  as  much  as  children.  This  'Covey'  consists  of  the 
twelve  children  of  a  hard-pressed  Dr.  Partridge  out  of  which  is  chosen  a 
little  girl  to  be  adopted  by  a  spoiled,  fine  lady.  We  have  rsr»ly  read 
•  story  for  boys  and  girls  with  greater  pleasure.  One  of  the  chief  char- 
acters would  not  have  disgraced  Dickens*  pen." — Literary  World. 

The  Little  Princess  of  Tower  Hill.    By  L.  T.  MEADE. 

12mo.  cloth,  illustrated,  price  75  cents. 

'This  is  one  of  the  prettiest  books  for  children  published,  as  pretty 
•a  a  pond-lily,  and  quite  as  fragrant.  Nothing  could  be  imagined  more 
attractive  to  young  people  than  such  a  combination  of  fresh  pages  and 
fair  pictures;  and  while  children  will  rejoice  over  it — which  is  much 
better  than  crying  for  It— it  is  a  book  that  can  be  read  with  pleasure 
even  by  older  hoys  and  girls." — Boston  Advertiser. 

For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by  the 
publisher,  A.  L.  BTTBT,  92-68  Duane  Street,  New  York. 


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